(■•-., fr-m-r^i 



^m 



V.V V r ( 



fc5 



s 

CLASSICS 






•<K*v' 






■^ 



1 1 



■ 




CbssJTJLafc! 



Book 



.S 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



LITTLE CLASSICS 

Edited by Arthur D. Hall 

Richard Brinsley Sheridan 

SELECTIONS FROM 

COMEDIES 

and 
SPEECHES 

Also 

VERSES TO THE MEMORY OF GARR1CK 

and 

ANECDOTES AND WITTY SAYINGS 



J9*i 






»■' > >i; \° • 



NEW YORK AND LONDON 
STREET AND SMITH, PUBLISHERS 



7ft 3 I *l 



LIBRARY OFl 
3NGRESS, | 



THE 
CONG 

Two Co»^ ReostviFD 

SEP. 2U 1902 

,COPV*r«HT FNTRV 

CLASS G^XXa No. 
COPY H. 



Copyright, 1902 
By STREET & SMITH 



Little Classics 





C C - • • * « 
• « c c c cc c c 


•• • 


• * < 
• « 

• • 4 


> • ♦ • • 

[ « • • 
l> •• • 




• ••••••< 


« <• • 


f 
< 


•:V:.. •:•* 


«. c 

*•• 


4 


••: j 



CONTENTS. 



' PAGE 

Introduction, . .• . r . . • • 1X 

Comedies : 

Mrs. Malaprop's Opinions (The Ri- 
vals), ...... 3 

The Two Absolutes (The Rivals), . 9 

Bob Acres' Valor (The Rivals), . 15 
Quarrels Between Sir Peter and Lady 

Teazle (The School for Scandal), 22 
The Screen Scene (The School for 

Scandal), . . ■ • • 3 2 

Friendly Criticism (The Critic), . 53 

The Art of Puffing (The Critic), . 64 

Verses to the Memory of Garrick, . 79 

Speeches: 

On the Fourth Charge Against War- 
ren Hastings, 87 

The Begum Speech, . . . .107 
A Reply to Burke, . . . .129 

On the French Revolution, . . 13° 
v 



Contents. 

An Answer to Lord Mornington, 

On the People of England, . . 
On the Rebellion in Ireland, 
On the Probability of a French In- 
vasion, .-..-. 
Ridicule of Pitt and Addington, 
Criticism of Appointments to Office, 
Declination of Candidacy, .. 
Anecdotes and Witty Sayings, 



PAGE 

133 
141 

143 

145 
151 
154 
158 
165 



VI 



Introduction, 



Introduction. 

Richard Brinsley Sheridan may indeed 
be called the Admirable Crichton of his day. 
There were few things he could not do in 
the line of brain work, and most of these he 
did superlatively well. He was wit, orator, 
poet and dramatist. Byron has said of him : 
"Whatever Sheridan has done or chosen to 
do has been par excellence, always the best 
of its kind. He has written the best comedy, 
'The School for Scandal ;' the best opera, 'The 
Duenna' (in my mind far before that St. 
Giles's lampoon, 'The Beggars' Opera') ; the 
best farce, 'The Critic' — ll is only too good 
for a farce — and the best address, the 'Mono- 
logue on Garrick ;' and to crown all, delivered 
the very best oration, the famous 'Begum 
Speech/ ever conceived or heard in this 
country." 

In Sheridan's writings every sentence is 
rounded and polished to a degree. Quick and 
clever as he was, however, he was a hard 
worker, and devoted infinite pains and much 
time to the products of his brain. This has 
been the case with the vast majority of great 
geniuses. As Sheridan himself has said in 
"Clio's Protest" : 

ix 



Introduction. 

"Yon write with ease to show your breeding, 
But easy writing s cursed hard reading." 

Sheridan's productions were neither easily 
written, nor are they hard reading. He pol- 
ished, altered, shifted sentences and words 
about, until he had a brilliant and sparkling 
whole. 

Sheridan began his career as a dramatist. 
Although he wrote and produced other plays, 
it is upon the three comedies, from which we 
give extracts here, that his fame as a play- 
wright rests. All three are as amusing and 
interesting to-day as they were when first 
acted ; they still, after a century and a quar- 
ter, hold the stage, and there is no sign that 
they will ever lag superfluous thereon. More- 
over, like few plays, outside of Shakspere, 
they are excellent reading, and can be 
thoroughly enjoyed without the additional aid 
of a mimic presentation. With the exception 
of a few poems of more or less merit, Sheri- 
dan made his entry into the literary arena. 
when "The Rivals" was brought out at Drury 
Lane Theatre, early in 1775. He was then 
twenty-four, and it was after his marriage to 
Miss Linley, the "Maid of Bath," following 
a most romantic courtship. The comedy failed 
on its first representation, chiefly through the 
incompetency of the actor who essayed the 
character of Sir Lucius O'Trigger. Another 
performer was substituted, some changes 

x 



Introduction. 

were made, and the play leaped at once into 
the height of popular favor. By this pro- 
duction, sentimental comedy was given a blow 
which finally proved fatal ; but not without 
violent protest from its admirers. 

In 1774, Sheridan became manager of 
Drury Lane Theatre, succeeding Garrick. 
The second play to be produced under the 
new regime was the celebrated "School for 
Scandal," which created a tremendous furore 
and enjoyed a run unprecedented for those 
days. In 1779 "The Critic" received its first 
performance, and also was extremely success- 
ful. 

In 1780, chiefly through the good offices of 
Fox and Burke, Sheridan was sent to the 
House of Commons as a member for the 
borough of Stafford. During the first years 
of his political life, he produced but little 
impression. His connection with the stage, 
moreover, was the cause of many mortifica- 
tions to him f for he was constantly taunted 
with it by members of the other party. 

In following Fox into opposition, Sheridan 
became one of his most ardent and valuable 
supporters. In 1787 his great opportunity 
came. Burke started a subject which af- 
forded the orators of his party an extraor- 
dinary occasion for the most brilliant dis- 
plays of eloquence. This was the impeach- 
ment of Warren Hastings. To Sheridan was 
allotted the charge relating to the spoliation 



Introduction. 

of the Begum princesses of Oude. A con- 
siderable portion of his speech on this sub- 
ject will be found in this volume. 

Of this magnificent specimen of oratory 
Mr. Burke declared that it was "the most 
astonishing effort of eloquence, argument and 
wit united, of which there was any record 
or tradition." Mr. Fox said, "all that he had 
ever heard, all that he had ever read, when 
compared with it, dwindled into nothing, and 
vanished like vapor before the sun." And 
Mr. Pitt acknowledged that kk it surpassed all 
the eloquence of ancient and modern times, 
and possessed everything that genius or art 
could furnish, to agitate and control the hu- 
man mind." 

Later on, the speech known as the u Begum 
Speech," was delivered, and created no less 
excitement. Sheridan was now fully recog- 
nized as a very great orator, and he main- 
tained his right to be considered such to the 
very end of his Parliamentary career. In the 
extracts from the most famous of his subse- 
quent speeches which we have made, we 
have endeavored to show the varied extent 
of his powers, his wit, his eloquence, his 
humor and his scathing sarcasm. They have 
been taken from the best reports obtainable. 
It is a singular fact, however, and a matter 
of regret as well, that so few English orators 
of that time took any pains to have their 
speeches correctly transmitted to posterity. 

xii 



Introduction. 

Sheridan revised only one of his for publi- 
cation. 

Sheridan's political career closed in 1812. 
His very last words in Parliament, on his own 
motion relative to the overtures of peace from 
France, were as follows : 

"Yet, after the general subjugation and 
ruin of Europe, should there ever exist an 
independent historian to record the awful 
events that produced this universal calamity, 
let that historian have to say — 'Great Britain 
fell, and with her fell all the best securities 
for the charities of human life, for the power 
and honor, the fame, the glory, and the liber- 
ties, not only of herself, but of the whole 
civilized world/' 

Sheridan was as unique in his personality 
as he was in his genius. For quickness of wit 
and readiness of repartee, he has rarely been 
equalled, never surpassed. The truth of this 
will readily be recognized by a perusal of the 
specimens we have collected under the head- 
ing of "Anecdotes and Witty Sayings." His 
powers of fascination, too, were great, and 
neither dissipation nor his reputed character 
as a roue could affect his success in this 
direction. 

Over the irregularities of his private life 
it is perhaps best to draw a veil. Suffice it 
to say, that he was accused of all sorts of 
profligacy and undue indulgences, but the 
stories told of him are probably somewhat 

xiii 



Introduction. 

highly colored. It is certain, however, that 
his intimacy with the dissolute Prince of 
Wales, afterward George the Fourth, was, to 
say the least, productive of no benefit to him. 
But then, Tempora mutantur, et nos mutamur 
in Mis. One age has no right to judge the 
manners and customs of another by its own. 

The last years of Sheridan's life were em- 
bittered by poverty, the clamors of legal 
pursuers, and the neglect of former friends. 
Yet, those who had been heedless of him 
when alive, flocked to do him honor when 
dead. An unprecedented array of rank and 
celebrity graced his funeral at Westminster 
Abbey, where he was buried in the Poets' 
Corner. 

Lord Byron, who was deeply attached to 
Sheridan, after alluding in the most chari- 
table way to his weaknesses, and saying that 
"what seemed vice might be but woe," closes 
his poem with the following lines : 

"Long shall we seek his likeness, long in vain, 
And turn to all of him which may remain, 
Sighing that nature formed but one such man, 
And broke the die in moulding Sheridan!" 

Arthur D. Hall. 



xiv 



Comedies. 



Comedies. 

MRS. MALAPROP'S OPINIONS. 

THE RIVALS. ACT I. SCENE II. 

Lydia on the stage. 

Enter Mrs. Malaprop, and Sir Anthony 
Absolute. 

Mrs. Mai. There, Sir Anthony, there sits 
the deliberate simpleton who wants to dis- 
grace her family, and lavish herself on a fel- 
low not worth a shilling. 

Lyd. Madam, I thought you once 

Mrs. Mai. You thought, miss ! I don't 
know any business you have to think at all — 
thought does not become a young woman. 
But the point we would request of you is, 
that you will promise to forget this fellow — 
to illiterate him, I say, quite from your 
memory. 

Lyd. Ah, madam ! our memories are inde- 
pendent of our wills. It is not so easy to 
forget. 

Mrs. Mel. But I say it is, misc ; there is 
nothing on earth so easy as to forget, if a per- 
son chooses to set about it. I'm sure I have as 

3 



Sheridan. 

much forgot your poor dear uncle as if he 
had never existed — and I thought it my duty 
so to do; and let me tell you, Lydia, these 
violent memories don't become a young wom- 
an. 

Sir Anth. Why sure she won't pretend to 
remember what she's ordered not ! — ay, this 
comes of her reading ! 

Lyd. What crime, madam, have I com- 
mitted, to be treated thus? 

Mrs Mai. Now don't attempt to extirpate 
yourself from the matter; you know I have 
proof controvertible of it. — But tell me, will 
you promise to do as you're bid? Will you 
take a husband of your friends' choosing? 

Lyd. Madam, I must tell you plainly, that 
had I no preferment for any one else, the 
choice you have made would be my aversion. 

Mrs. Mai. What business have you, miss, 
with preference and aversion? They don't 
become a young woman; and you ought to 
know, that as both always wear off, 'tis safest 
in matrimony to begin with a little aversion. 
I am sure I hated your poor dear uncle be- 
fore marriage as if he'd been a blackamoor — 
and yet, miss, you are sensible what a wife 
I made ! — and when it pleased Heaven to re- 
lease me from him, 'tis unknown what tears 
I shed ! — But suppose we were going to give 
you another choice, will you promise us to 
give up this Beverley? 

Lyd. Could I belie my thoughts so far as 

4 



Comedies, 

to give that promise, my actions would cer- 
tainly as far belie my words. 

Mrs. Mai. Take yourself to your room. — 
You are fit company for nothing but your own 
ill-humors. 

Lyd. Willingly, ma'am — I cannot change 
for the worse. [Exit. 

Mrs. Mai. There's a little intricate hussy 
for you ! 

Sir Anth. It is not to be wondered at, 
ma'am, — all this is the natural consequence 
of teaching girls to read.. Had I a thousand 
daughters, by Heaven ! I'd as soon have them 
taught the black art as their alphabet ! 

Mrs. Mai. Nay, nay, Sir Anthony, you are 
an absolute misanthropy. 

Sir Anth. In my way hither, Mrs. Malaprop, 
I observed your niece's maid coming forth 
from a circulating library ! — She had a book 
in each hand — they were half-bound volumes, 
with marble covers ' — From that moment I 
guessed how full of duty I should see her 
mistress ! 

Mrs. Mai. Those are vile places, indeed ! 

Sir Anth. Madam, a circulating library in a 
town is an evergreen tree of diabolical knowl- 
edge ! It blossoms through the year ! — And 
depend on it, Mrs. Malaprop, that they who 
are so fond of handling the leaves, will long 
for the fruit at last. 

Mrs. Mai. Fy, fy, Sir Anthony ! you surely 
speak laconically, 

5 



Sheridan. 

Sir Anth. Why, Mrs. Malaprop, in modera- 
tion now, what would you have a woman 
know ? 

Mrs. Mai. Observe, me, Sir Anthony. I 
would by no means wish a daughter of mine 
to be a progeny of learning; I don't think so 
much learning becomes a young woman ; for 
instance, I would never let her meddle with 
Greek, or Hebrew, or algebra, or simony, or 
fluxions, or paradoxes, or such inflam- 
matory branches of learning — neither 
would it be necessary for her to handle any 
of your mathematical, astronomical, diaboli- 
cal instruments. — But, Sir Anthony, I would 
send her, at nine years old. to a boarding- 
school, in order to learn a little ingenuity and 
artifice. Then, sir, she should have a super- 
cilious knowledge in accounts ; — and as she 
grew up, I would have her instructed in 
geometry, that she might know something of 
the contagious countries ; — but above all, Sir 
Anthony, she should be mistress of orthodoxy, 
that she might not misspell, and mispronounce 
words so shamefully as girls usually do ; and 
likewise that she might reprehend the true 
meaning of what she is saying. This, Sir 
Anthony, is what I would have a woman 
know ; — and I don't think there is a super- 
stitious article in it. 

Sir Anth. Well, well, Mrs. Malaprop, I will 
dispute the point no further with you; though 
I must confess that you are a truly moderate 

6 



Comedies. 

and polite arguer, £or_almost every third word 
you say is-orumy side of the question. But, 
Mrs. Malaprop, to the more important point in 
debate — you say you have no objeciion to my 
proposal ? 

Mrs. Mai. None, I assure you. I am under 
no positive engagement with Mr. Acres, and 
as Lydia is so obstinate against him, perhaps 
your son may have better success. 

Sir Anth. Well, madam. I will write for the 
boy directly. He knows not a syllable of this 
yet, though I have for some time had the 
proposal in my head. He is at present with 
his regiment. 

Mrs. Mai. We have never seen your son, Sir 
Anthony; but I hope no objection on his side. 

Sir Anth. Objection ! — let him object if he 
dare ! — No, no, Mrs. Malaprop, Jack knows 
that the least demur puts me in a frenzy di- 
rectly. My process was always very simple — 
in his younger days, 'twas "J ac k, do this ;" 
— if he demurred, I knocked him down — and if 
he grumbled at that, I always sent him out of 
the room. 

Mrs. Mai. Ay, and the properest way, o' my 
conscience ! — nothing is so conciliating to 
young people as severity. — Well, Sir An- 
thony, I shall give Mr. Acres his discharge, 
and prepare Lydia to receive your son's invo- 
cations ; — and I hope you will represent her 
to the captain as an object not altogether il- 
legible. 

7 



Sheridan. 

Sir Anth. Madam, I will handle the subject 
prudently. — Well, I must leave you ■ and let 
me beg you, Mrs. Malaprop, to enforce this 
matter roundly to the girl. — Take my advice — 
keep a tight hand: if she rejects this proposal, 
clap her under lock and key ; and if you were 
just to let the servants forget to bring her 
dinner for three or four days, you can't con- 
ceive how she'd come about 



3 



THE TWO ABSOLUTES. 

THE RIVALS. — ACT II. SCENE I. 

Captain Absolute on the stage. 

Abs. Now for a parental lecture — I hope he 
has heard nothing of the business that has 
brought me here — I wish the gout had held 
him fast in Devonshire, with all my soul! 

Enter Sir Anthony Absolute. 

Sir, I am delighted to see you here ; looking 
so well ! your sudden arrival at Bath made me 
apprehensive for your health. 

Sir Anth. Very apprehensive, I dare say, 
Jack. — What, you are recruiting here, hey? 

Abs. Yes, sir, I am on duty. 

Sir Anth. Well, Jack, I am glad to see you, 
though I did not expect it, for I was going to 
write to you on a little matter of business. — 
Jack, I have been considering that I grow old 
and infirm, and shall probably not trouble you 
long. 

Abs. Pardon me, sir, I never saw you look 

9 



Sheridan. 

more strong and hearty ; and I pray frequently 
that you may continue so. 

Sir Anth. I hope your prayers may be heard, 
with all my heart. Well then, Jack, I have 
been considering that I am so strong and 
hearty I may continue to plague you a long 
time. Now, Jack, I am sensible that the in- 
come oi your commission, and what I have 
hitherto allowed yon. is but a small pittance 
for a lad of your spirit. 

Abs. Sir, you are very good. 

Sir Anth. And it is my wish, while yet I 
live, to have my boy make some figure in the 
world. I have resolved, therefore, to fix you 
at once in a noble independence. 

Abs. Sir, your kindness overpowers me — 
such generosity makes the gratitude of reason 
more lively than the sensations even of filial 
affection. 

Sir Anth. I am glad you are so sensible of 
my attention — and you shall be master of a 
large estate in a few weeks. 

Abs. Let my future life, sir, speak my grati- 
tude ; I cannot express the sense I have of 
your munificence. — Yet, sir, I presume you 
would not wish me to quit the army? 

Sir Anth. Oh, that shall be as your wife 
chooses. 

Abs. My wife, sir ! 

Sir Anth. Ay, ay, settle that between you — 
settle that between you. 

Abs. A wife, sir, did you say? 

10 



Comedies. 

Sir Anth. Ay, a wife — why, did not 1 men- 
tion her before ? 

Abs. Not a word of her, sir. 

Sir Anth. Odd so! — I mustn't forget her, 
though. — Yes, Jack, the independence I was 
talking of is by a marriage — the fortune is 
saddled with a wife — but I suppose that makes 
no difference. 

Abs. Sir ! sir ! — you amaze me ! 

Sir Anth. Why, what the devil's the matter 
with the fool ? Just now you were all grati- 
tude and duty. 

Abs. I was, sir — you talked to me of inde- 
pendence and a fortune, but not a word of a 
wife. 

Sir Anth. Why — what difference does that 
make? Odds life, sir! if you have the estate, 
you must take it with the live stock on it, as 
it stands. 

Abs. If my happiness is to be the price, I 
must beg leave to decline the purchase.- — 
Pray, sir, who is the lady? 

Sir Anth. What's that to you, sir? — Come, 
give me your promise to love, and to marry 
her directly. 

Abs. Sure, sir, this is not very reasonable, 
to summon my affection for a lady I know 
nothing of ! 

Sir Anth. I am sure, sir, 'tis more unrea- 
sonable in you to object to a lady you know 
nothing of. 

Abs. Then, sir, I must tell you plainly that 

11 



Sheridan. 

my inclinations are fixed on another — my 

heart is engaged to an angel. 

Sir Anth. Then pray let it send an excuse. 
It is very sorry — but business prevents its 
waiting on her. 

Abs. But my vows are pledged to her. 

Sir Anth. Let her foreclose, Jack; let her 
foreclose; they are not worth redeeming; be- 
sides, you have the angel's vows in exchange, 
I suppose ; so there can be no loss there. 

Abs. You must excuse me, sir, if I tell you, 
once for all, that in this point I cannot obey 
you. 

Sir Anth. Hark'ee, Jack ; — I have heard you 
for some time with patience — I have been cool 
— quite cool ; but take care — you know I am 
compliance itself — when I am not thwarted; — 
no one more easily led — when I have my own 
way ; — but don't put me in a frenzy. 

Abs. Sir, I must repeat it — in this I cannot 
obey you. 

Sir Anth. Now damn me ! if ever I call you 
Jack again while I live ! 

Abs. Nay, sir, but hear me. 

Sir Anth. I won't hear a word — not a word ! 
not one word ! so give me your promise by a 
nod — and I'll tell you what, Jack — I mean, 
you dog — if you don't, by 

Abs. What, sir, promise to link myself to 
some mass of ugliness ! to 

Sir Anth. Zounds ! sirrah ! the lady shall be 
as ugly as I choose : she shall have a hump on 

12 



Comedies. 

each shoulder; she shall be as crooked as the 
crescent; her one eye shall roll like the bull's 
in Cox's Museum ; she shall have a skin like a 
mummy, and the beard of a Jew — she shall be 
all this, sirrah ! — yet I will make you ogle her 
all day, and sit up all night to write sonnets 
on her beauty. 

Abs. This is reason and moderation indeed! 

Sir Anth. None of your sneering, puppy ! no 
grinning, jackanapes! 

Abs. Indeed, sir, I never was in a worse 
humor for mirth in my life. 

Sir Anth. 'Tis false, sir, I know you are 
laughing in your sleeve ; I know you'll grin 
.when I am gone, sirrah ! 

Abs. Sir, I hope I know my duty better. 

Sir Anth. None of your passion, sir ! none of 
your violence, if you please ! — It won't do with 
me, I promise you. 

Abs. Indeed, sir, I never was cooler in my 
life. 

Sir Anth. 'Tis a confounded lie — I know 
you are in a passion in your heart; I know 
you are, you hypocritical young dog ! but it 
won't do. 

Abs. Nay, sir, upon my word 

Sir Anth. So you will fly out ! can't you be 
cool like me? What the devil can passion do? 
— Passion is of no service, you impudent, in- 
solent, overbearing reprobate ! — There, you 
sneer again! don't provoke me! — but you rely 
upon the mildness of my temper — you do, you 

13 



Sheridan. 

dog! you play upon the meekness of my dis- 
position ! — Yet take care — the patience of a 
saint may be overcome at last ! — but mark ! I 
give you six hours and a half to consider of 
this: if you then agree, without any condi- 
tion, to do everything on earth that I choose, 
why — confound you ! I may in time forgive 
you. — If not, zounds ! don't enter the same 
hemisphere with me ! don't dare to breathe the 
same air, or use the same light with me; but 
get an atmosphere and a sun of your own ! 
I'll strip you of your commission; I'll lodge a 
five-and-threepence in the hands of trustees, 
and you shall live on the interest. — I'll disown 
you, I'll disinherit you, I'll unget you ! and 
damn me ! if ever I call you Jack again ! 

[Exit. 
Abs. Mild, gentle, considerate father, I kiss 
your hands. 



14 



BOB ACRES' VALOR, 

THE RIVALS. ACT V. SCENE III. 

Enter Sir Lucius O'Trigger and A_cres, with 
pistols. 

Acres. By my valor ! then, Sir Lucius, forty 
yards is a good distance. Odds levels and 
aims ! — I say it is a good distance. 

Sir Luc. Is it for muskets or small field- 
pieces ? Upon my conscience, M r. Acres, you 
must leave those things to me. — Stay now — 
I'll show you. — [Measures paces along the 
stage.'] There now, that is a very pretty dis- 
tance — a pretty gentleman's distance. 

Acres. Zounds ! we might as wel! fight in a 
sentry-box ! I tell you, Sir Lucius, the farther 
he is off, the cooler I shall take my aim. 

Sir Luc. Faith ! then I suppose you would 
aim at him best of all if he was out of sight ! 

Acres. No, Sir Lucius; but I should think 
forty or eight and thirty yards 

Sir Luc. Pho ! pho ! nonsense ! three or four 
feet between the mouths of your pistols is as 
good as a mile. 

Acres. Odds bullets, no ! — by my valor ! there 

15 



Sheridan. 

is no merit in killing him so near: do, my dear 
Sir Lucius, let me bring him down at a long 
shot : — a long shot, Sir Lucius, if you love me. 

Sir Luc. Well, the gentleman's friend and I 
must settle that. — But tell me now, Mr. Acres, 
in case of an accident, is there any little will 
or commission I could execute for you ? 

Acres. I am much obliged to you, Sir Lucius 
— but I don't understand 

Sir Luc. Why, you may think there's no 
being shot at without a little risk — and if an 
unlucky bullet should carry a quietus with it 
— I say it will be no time then to be bothering 
you about family matters. 

Acres. A quietus ! 

Sir Luc. For instance, now — if that should 
be the case — would you choose to be pickled 
and sent home? — or would it be the same to 
you to lie here in the Abbey? — I'm told there 
is very snug lying in the Abbey. 

Acres. Pickled ! — Snug lying in the Abbey ! 
— Odds tremors ! Sir Lucius, don't talk so ! 

Sir Luc. I suppose, Mr. Acres, you never 
were engaged in an affair of this kind before? 

Acres. No, Sir Lucius, never before. 

Sir Luc. Ah ! that's a pity ! — there's nothing 
like being used to a thing. — Pray now, how 
would you receive the gentleman's shot? 

Acres. Odds files ! — I've practiced that — 
there, Sir Lucius — there. — [Puts himself in an 
attitude.] A side-front, hey? Odd! I'll make 
myself small enough : I'll stand edgewaySo 

16 



Comedies. 

Sir Luc. Now — you're quite out — for if you 

stand so when I take my aim 

[Levelling at him. 

Acres. Zounds ! Sir Lucius — are vou sure it 
is not cocked? 

Sir Luc. Never fear. 

Acres. But — but — you don't know — it may 
go off of its own head ! 

Sir Luc. Pho ! be easy. — Well, now if I hit 
you in the body, my bullet has a douole chance 
— for if it misses a vital part of your right 
side — 'twill be very hard if it don't succeed on 
the left! 

Acres. A vital part! 

Sir Luc. But, there — fix yourself so — [Plac- 
ing him] — let him see the broad side of your 
full front— there — now a ball or two may pass 
clean through your body, and never do any 
harm at all. 

Acres. Clean through me ! — a ball or two 
clean through me ! 

Sir Luc. Ay — may they — and it is much the 
genteelest attitude into the bargain. 

Acres. Look'ee ! Sir Lucius — I'd just as lieve 
be shot in an awkward posture as a genteel 
one ; so, by my valor ! I will stand edgeways. 

Sir Luc. [Looking at his watch.'] Sure they 
don't mean to disappoint us — Hah ! — no, faith 
— I think I see them coming. 

Acre. Hey ! — what ! — coming ! 

Sir Luc. Ay. — Who are those yonder get- 
ting over the stile? 

17 



Sheridan. 

Acres. There are two of them indeed ! — well 
— let them come — hey, Sir Lucius ! — we — we — 
we — we — won't run. 

Sir Luc. Run ! 

Acres. Xo — I say — we won't run, by my 
valor ! 

Sir Luc. What the devil's the matter with 
you? 

Acres. Nothing — nothing — my dear friend — 
my dear Sir Lucius — but I — I — I don'; feel 
quite so bold, somehow, as I did. 

Sir Luc. O fy ! — consider your honor. 

Acres. Ay — true — my honor. Do, Sir Lu- 
cius, edge in a word or two every now and 
then about my honor. 

Sir Luc. Well, here they're coming. 

[Looking. 

Acres. Sir Lucius — if I wa'n't with you, I 
should almost think I was afraid. — If my valor 
should leave me ! — Valor will come and go. 

Sir Luc. Then pray keep it fast, while you 
have it. 

Acres. Sir Lucius — I doubt it is going — yes 
— my valor is certainly going ! — it is sneak- 
ing off ! — I feel it oozing out as it were at the 
palms of my hands ! 

Sir Lite. Your honor — your honor. — Here 
they are. 

Acres. O mercy !— now — that I was safe at 
Clod Hall ! or could be shot before I was 
aware ! 

IS 



Comedies. 



Enter Faulkland and Obtain Absolute. 

Sir Luc. Gentlemen, your most obedient. — 
Hah ! — what, Captain Absolute ! — So, I sup- 
pose, sir, you are come here, just like myself — 
to do a kind office, first for your friend — then 
to proceed to business on your own account. 

Acres. What, Jack! — my dear Jack! — my 
dear friend ! 

Abs. Hark'ee, Bob, Beverley's at hand. 

Sir Luc. Well, Mr. Acres — I don't blame 
your saluting the gentleman civilly. — [To 
Faulkland.] So. Mr. Beverley, if you'll 
choose your weapons, the captain and I will 
measure the ground. 

Faulk. My weapons, sir ! 

Acres. Odds life ! Sir Lucius, I'm not going 
to fight Mr. Faulkland; these are my particular 
friends. 

Sir Luc. What, sir, did you not come here 
to fight Mr. Acres? 

Faulk. Xot I, upon my word, sir. 

Sir Luc. Well, now, that's mighty provok- 
ing ! But I hope, Mr. Faulkland, as there are 
three of us come on purpose for the game, you 
won't be so cantankerous as to spoil the party 
by sitting out. 

Abs. O pray, Faulkland, fight to oblige Sir 
Lucius. 

Faulk. Nay, if Mr. Acres is so bent on the 
natter 

19 



Sheridan. 

Acres. No, no, Mr. Faulkland ; — I'll bear my 
disappointment like a Christian. — Look'ee, Sir 
Lucius, there's no occasion at all for me to 
fight; and if it is the same to you, I'd as lieve 
let it alone. 

Sir Luc. Observe me, Mr. Acres — I must not 
be trifled with. You have certainly challenged 
somebody — and you came here to fight him. 
Now, if that gentleman is willing to represent 
him — I can't see, for my soul, why it isn't just 
the same thing. 

Acres. Why no — Sir Lucius — I tell you, 'tis 
one Beverley I've challenged — a fellow, you 
see, that dare not show his face ! — If he were 
here, I'd make him give up his pretensions di- 
rectly ! 

Abs. Hold, Bob — let me set you right — there 
is no such man as Beverley in the case. — The 
person who assumed that name is before you; 
and as his pretensions are the same in both 
characters, he is ready to support them in 
whatever way you please. 

Sir Luc. Well, this is lucky. — Now you have 
an opportunity 

Acres. What, quarrel with my dear friend 
Jack Absolute? — not if he were fifty Beve;'- 
leys ! Zounds ! Sir Lucius, you would not have 
me so unnatural. 

Sir Luc. Upon my conscience, Mr. Acres, 
your valor has oozed away with a vengeance ! 

Acres. Not in the least! Odds backs and 
abettors ! I'll be your second with all my 

20 



Comedies. 

heart — and if you should get a quietus, you 
may command me entirely. I'll get you snug 
lying in the Abbey here ; or pickle you, and 
send you over to Blunderbuss hall, or anything 
of the kind, with the greatest pleasure. 

Sir Luc. Pho ! pho ! you are little better than 
a coward. 

Acres. Mind, gentlemen, he calls me cow- 
ard ; coward was the word, by my valor ! 

Sir Luc. Well, sir? 

Acres. Look'ee, Sir Lucius, 'tisn't that I 
mind the word coward — coward may be said 
in joke — But if you had called me a poltroon, 
odds daggers and balls 

Sir Luc. Well, sir? 

Acres. I should have thought you a very ill- 
bred man. 

Sir Luc. Pho ! you are beneath my notice. 

Abs. Nay, Sir Lucius, you can't have a bet- 
ter second than my friend Acres — He is a most 
determined dog — called in the country, Fight- 
ing Bob. — He generally kills a man a week — 
don't you, Bob? 

Acres. Ay — at home ! 



21 



QUARRELS BETWEEN SIR PETER AND 
LADY TEAZLE. 

THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. — ACT II. SCENE I. 
AND ACT III. SCENE I. 

I. 

Enter Sir Peter and Lady Teazle. 

Sir Pet. Lady Teazle, Lady Teazle, I'll not 
bear it ! 

Lady Teaz. Sir Peter, Sir Peter, you may 
bear it or not, as you please ; but I ought to 
have my own way in everything, and what's 
more, I will too. What though I was edu- 
cated in the country, I know very well that 
women of fashion in London are accountable 
to nobody after they are married. 

Sir Pet. Very well, ma'am, very well ; so a 
husband is to have no influence, no author-' 
itv ? 

Lady Teas. Authority! No, to be sure: — if 
vou wanted authority over me, you should 
have adopted me, and not married me: I am 
sure you were old enough. 

22 



Comedies. 

Sir Pet. Old enough ! — ay, there it is. Well 
well, Lady Teazle, though' my life may be 
made unhappy by your temper, I'll not be 
ruined by your extravagance ! 

Lady Teas. My extravagance ! I'm sure 
I'm not more extravagant than a woman of 
fashion ought to be. 

Sir Pet. No, no, madam, you shall throw 
away no more sums on such unmeaning luxury. 
'Slife ! to spend as much to furnish your dress- 
ing-room with flowers in winter as would suf- 
fice to turn the Pantheon into a greenhouse, 
and give a fete champetre at Christmas. 

Lady Teaz. And am I to blame. Sir Peter, 
because flowers are dear in cold weather? 
You should find fault with the climate an r1 
not with me. For my part, I'm sure I wish 
it was spring all the year round, and that roses 
grew under our feet ! 

Sir Pet. Oons ! madam — if you had been 
born to this, I shouldn't wonder at your talk- 
ing thus ; but you forget what your situation 
was when I married you. 

Lady Teaz. No, no, I don't; 'twas a very 
disagreeable one, or I should never have mar- 
ried you. 

Sir Pet. Yes, yes, madam, you were then in 
somewhat a humbler style- — the daughter of a 
plain country squire. Recollect, Lady Teazle 
when I saw you first sitting at your tambour, 
in a pretty figured linen gown, with a bunch 
of keys at your side, your hair combed smoot 

23 



Sheridan. 

over a roll, and your apartment hung round 
with fruits in worsted, of your own working. 

Lady Teaz. Oh, yes ! I remember it very 
well, and a curious life I led. My daily occu- 
pation to inspect the dairy, superintend the 
poultry, make extracts from the family re- 
ceipt book, and comb my aunt Deborah's lap- 
dog. 

Sir Pet. Yes, yes, ma'am, 'twas so indeed. 

Lady Teaz. And then, you know, my even- 
ing amusements ! To draw patterns for ruffles, 
which I had not materials to make up; to 
play Pope Joan with the curate ; to read a 
sermon to my aunt ; or to be stuck down to an 
old spinnet to strum my father to sleep after 
a fox-chase. 

Sir Pet. I am glad you have so good a mem- 
ory. Yes, madam, these were the recreations 
I took you from ; but now you must have your 
coach — vis-a-vis — and three powdered footmen 
before your chair; and, in summer, a pair of 
white cats to draw you to Kensington Gardens. 
No recollection, I suppose, when you were con- 
tent to ride double, behind the butler, on a 
docked coach-horse ? 

Lady Teaz. No — I swear I never did that : 
I deny the butler and the coach-horse. 

Sir Pet. This, madam, was your situation ; 
and what have I done for you? I have made 
you a woman of fashion, of fortune, of rank — 
in short, I have made you my wife. 

Lady Teaz. Well, then, and there is but one 

24 



Comedies. 

thing more you can make me to add to the 
obligation, that is 

Sir Pet. My widow, I suppose? 

Lady Teaz. Hem ! hem ! 

Sir Pet. I thank you, madam — but don't 
flatter yourself ; for, though your ill-conduct 
may disturb my peace of mind, it shall never 
break my heart, I promise you : however, I 
am equally obliged to you for the hint. 

Lady Teaz. Then why will you endeavor to 
make yourself so disagreeable to me, and 
thwart me in every little elegant expense? 

Sir Pet. 'Slife, madam, I say, had you any of 
these little elegant expenses when you married 
me? 

Lady Teaz. Lud, Sir Peter ! would you have 
me be out of the fashion? 

Sir Pet. The fashion, indeed ! what had 
you to do with the fashion before you married 
me? 

Lady Teaz. For my part, I should think you 
would like to have your wife thought a woman 
of taste. 

Sir Pet. Ay — there again — taste ! Zounds ! 
madam, you had no taste when you married 
me ! 

Lady Teaz. That's very true, indeed, Sir 
Peter ! and, after having married you, I should 
never pretend to taste again, I allow. But 
now, Sir Peter, since we have finished our 
daily jangle. I presume I may go to my en- 
gagement at Lady Sneerwell's? 

25 



Sheridan. 

Sir Pet. Ay, there's another precious cir- 
cumstance — a charming set of acquaintance 
you have made there ! 

Lady Teas. Nay, Sir Peter, they are all peo- 
ple of rank and fortune, and remarkably tena- 
cious of reputation. 

Sir Pet. Yes, egad, they are tenacious of 
reputation with a vengeance ; for they don't 
choose anybody should have a character but 
themselves ! Such a crew ! Ah ! many a 
wretch has rid on a hurdle who has done less 
mischief than these utterers of forged tales, 
coiners of scandal, and clippers of reputa- 
tion. 

Lady Teaz. What, would you restrain the 
freedom of speech ? 

Sir Pet. Ah ! they have made you just as bad 
as any one of the society. 

Lady Teaz. Why, I believe I do bear a part 
with a tolerable grace. 

Sir Pet. Grace, indeed ! 

Lady Teaz. But I vow I bear no malice 
against the people I abuse : when I say an ill- 
natured thing, 'tis out of pure good humor; 
and I take it for granted they deal exactly in 
the same manner with me. But, Sir Peter, 
you know you promised to come to Lady 
Sneerwell's too. 

Sir Pet. Well, well, I'll call in, just to look 
after my own character. 

Lady Teaz. Then, indeed, you must make 

'26 



Comedies. 

haste after me, or you'll be too late. So good- 
bye to ye. [Exit. 
Sir Pet. So — I have gained much by my in- 
tended expostulation ! Yet with what a charm- 
ing air she contradicts everything I say, and 
how pleasantly she shows her contempt for my 
authority ! Well, though I can't make her love 
me, there is great satisfaction in quarrelling 
with her ; and I think she never appears to 
such advantage as when she is doing every- 
thing in her power to plague me. [Exit. 



II. 
Sir Peter Teazle on the stage. 

Sir Pet. Was ever man so crossed as I am, 
everything conspiring to fret me ! — [Lady 
Teazle sings without.] But here comes my 
helpmate ! She appears in great good humor. 
How happy I should be if I could tease her into 
loving me, though but a little ! 

Enter Lady Teazle. 

Lady Teas. Lud ! Sir Peter, I hope you 
haven't been quarrelling with Maria? It is 
not using me well to be ill humored when I 
am not by. 

Sir Pet. Ah, Lady Teazle, you might have 
the power to make me good humored at all 
times. 

Lady Teaz. I am sure I wish I had ; for I 
want you to be in a charming sweet temper at 

27 



Sheridan. 

this moment. Do be good humored now, and 
let me have two hundred pounds, will you? 

Sir Pet. Two hundred pounds ; what an't I 
to be in a good humor without paying for it ! 
But speak to me thus, and i'faith there's noth- 
ing I could refuse you. You shall have it; but 
seal me a bond for the repayment. 

Lady Teaz. Oh, no — there — my note of han ' 
will do as well. [Offering her hand. 

Sir Pet. And you shall no longer reproach 
me with not giving you an independent settle- 
ment. I mean shortly to surprise you : but 
shall we always live thus, hey? 

Lady Tcaz. If you please. I'm sure I don't 
care how soon we leave off quarrelling, pro- 
vided you'll own you were tired first. 

Sir Pet. Well — then let our future contest 
be, who shall be most obliging. 

Lady Tcaz. I assure you, Sir Peter, good 
nature becomes you. You look now as you did 
before we were married, when you used to 
walk with me under the elms, and tell me 
stories of what a gallant you were in your 
youth, and chuck me under the chin, you 
would ; and ask me if I thought I could love 
an eld fellow, who would deny me nothing — 
didn't you ? 

Sir Pet. Yes, yes, and you were as kind and 
attentive 

Lady Teaz. Ay, so I was, and would always 
take your part, when my acquaintance used to 
abuse you, and turn you into ridicule. 

28 



Comedies. 

Sir Pet. Indeed ! 

Lady Teas. Ay, and when my cousin Sophy 
has called you a stiff, peevish old bachelor, and 
laughed at me for thinking of marrying one 
who might be my father, I have always de- 
fended you, and said, I didn't think you so 
ugly by any means. 

Sir Pet. Thank you. 

Lady Teas. And I dared say you'd make 
a very good sort of a husband. 

Sir Pet. And you prophesied right; and we 
shall now be the happiest couple 

Lady Teaz. And never differ again? 

Sir Pet. No, never ! — though at the same 
time, indeed, my dear Lady Teazle, you must 
watch your temper very seriously; for in all 
our little quarrels, my dear, if you recollect, 
my love, you always began first. 

Lady Teas. I beg your pardon, my dear Sir 
Peter : indeed, you always gave the provoca- 
tion. 

Sir Pet. Now, see, my angel ! take care— - 
contradicting isn't the way to keep friends. 

Lady Teas. Then, don't you begin it, my 
love !, 

Sir Pet. There, now ! you — you are going on. 
You don't perceive, my life, that you are just 
doing the very thing which you know always 
makes me angry. 

Lady Teas. Nay, you know if you will be 
angry without any reason, my dear 

29 



Sheridan. 

Sir Pet. There ! now you want to quarrel 
again. 

Lady Teas. No, I'm sure I don't : but, if you 
will be so peevish 

Sir Pet. There now ! who begins first ? 

Lady Teas. Why, you, to be sure. I said 
nothing — but there's no bearing your temper. 

Sir Pet. No, no, madam : the fault's in your 
own temper. 

Lady Teas. Ay, you are just what my cousin 
Sophy said you would be. 

Sir Pet. Your cousin Sophy is a forward im- 
pertinent gipsy. 

Lady Teas. You are a great bear, I'm sure, 
to abuse my relations. 

Sir Pet. Now may all the plagues of mar- 
riage be doubled on me, if ever I try to be 
friends with you any more ! 

Lady Teas. So much the better. 

Sir Pet. No, no, madam : 'tis evident you 
never cared a pin for me, and I was a madman 
to marry you — a pert, rural coquette, that had 
refused half the honest 'squires in the neigh- 
borhood ! 

Lady Teas. And I am sure I was a fool to 
marry you — an old dangling bachelor, who was 
single at fifty, only because he never could 
meet with any one who would have him. 

Sir Pet. Ay, ay, madam ; but you were 
pleased enough to listen to me ; you never had 
such an offer before. 

Lady Teas. No ! didn't I refuse Sir Tivy 

30 



Comedies. 

Terrier, who everybody said would have been 
a better match? for his estate is just as good 
as yours, and he has broke his neck since we 
have been married. 

Sir Pet. I have done, with you, madam. 
You are an unfeeling, ungrateful — but there's 
an end of everything. I believe you capable 
of everything that is bad. Yes, madam, I now 
believe the reports relative to you and Charles, 
madam. Yes, madam, you and Charles are, 
not without grounds 

Lady Teaz. Take care, Sir Peter ! you had 
better not insinuate any such thing ! I'll not 
be suspected without cause, I promise you. 

Sir Pet. Very well, madam ! very well ! a 
separate maintenance as soon as you please. 
Yes, madam, or a divorce ! I'll make an ex- 
ample of myself for the benefit of all old 
bachelors. Let us separate, madam. 

Lady Tcaz. Agreed ! agreed ! And now, my 
dear Sir Peter, we are of a mind once more, 
we may be the happiest couple, and never dif- 
fer again, you know : ha ! ha ! ha ! Well, you 
are going to be in a passion, I see, and I shall 
only interrupt you — so, bye ! bye ! [Exit. 

Sir Pet. Plagues and tortures ! can't I make 
her angry either ! Oh, I am the most miser- 
able fellow ! But I'll not bear her presuming 
to keep her temper : no ! she may break my 
heart, but she shan't keep her temper. 

[Exit. 



31 



THE SCREEN SCENE 

THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. — ACT IV. SCENE III. 

Enter Joseph Surface and Servant. 

Jos. Surf. No letter from Lady Teazle? 

Ser. No, sir. 

Jos. Surf. [Aside.] I am surprised she has 
not sent, if she is prevented from coming. 
Sir Peter certainly does not suspect me. Yet 
I wish I may not lose the heiress, through the 
scrape I have drawn myself into with the wife ; 
however, Charles's imprudence and bad char- 
acter are great points in my favor. 

[Knocking without. 

Ser. Sir, I believe that must be Lady Teazle. 

Jos. Surf. Hold ! See whether it is or not, 
before you go to the door : I have a particular 
message for you if it should be my brother. 

Ser. Tis her ladyship, sir ; she always leaves 
her chair at the milliner's in the next street. 

Jos. Surf. Stay, stay: draw that screen be- 
fore the window — that will do ; — my opposite 
neighbor is a maiden ladv of so curious a tern- 
per. — [Servant draws the screen, and exit.'] 
I have a difficult hand to play in this affair. 

32 



Comedies. 

Lady Teazle has lately suspected my views on 
Maria; but she must by no means be let into 
that secret, — at least, till I have her more in 
my power. 

Enter Lady Teazle. 

Lady Teas. What, sentiment in soliloquy 
now ? Have you been very impatient ? O 
Lud ! don't pretend to look grave. I vow I 
couldn't come before. 

Jos. Surf. O madam, punctuality is a species 
of constancy very unfashionable in a lady of 
quality. 

[Places chairs and sits after Lady 
Teazle is seated. 

Lady Teas. Upon my word, you ought to 
pity me. Do you know Sir Peter is grown so 
ill-natured to me of late, and so jealous of 
Charles too — that's the best of the story, isn't 
it? 

Jos. Surf. I am glad my scandalous friends 
keep that up. \Aside, 

Lady Teas. I am sure I wish he would let 
Maria marry him, and then perhaps he would 
be convinced ; don't you, Air. Surface ? 

Jos. Surf. [Aside.'] Indeed I do not. — 
[Aloud.'] Oh, certainly I do! for then my 
dear Lady Teazle would also be convinced how 
wrong her suspicions were of my having any 
design on the silly girl. 

Lady Teas. Well, well, I'm inclined to be- 
lieve ycu. But isn't it provoking, to have the 

33 



Sheridan. 

most ill-natured things said of one? And 
there's my friend Lady Sneerwell has cir- 
culated I don't know how many scandalous 
tales of me, and all without any foundation 
too ; that's what vexes me. 

Jos. Surf. Ay, madam, to be sure, that is 
the provoking circumstance — without founda- 
tion; yes, yes, there's the mortification, in- 
deed ; for, when a scandalous story is believed 
against one, there certainly is no comfort like 
the consciousness of having deserved it. 

Lady Tcaz. No, to be sure, then I'd forgive 
their malice ; but to attack me, who am really 
so innocent, and who never say an ill-natured 
thing of anybody — that is, of any friend; and 
then Sir Peter, too, to have him so peevish, 
and so suspicious, when I know the integrity 
of my own heart — indeed 'tis monstrous ! 

Jos. Surf. But, my dear Lady Teazle, 'tis 
your own fault if you suffer it. When a hus- 
band entertains a groundless suspicion of his 
wife, and withdraws his confidence from her, 
the original compact is broken, and she owes 
it to the honor of her sex to endeavor to out- 
wit him. 

Lady Tcaz. Indeed ! So that, if he suspects 
me without cause, it follows, that the best way 
of curing his jealousy is to give him reason 
for't? . 

Jos. Surf. Undoubtedly — for your husband 
should never be deceived in you; and in that 

3± 



Comedies. 

case it becomes you to be frail in compliment 
to his discernment. 

Lady Teas. To be sure, what you say is very 
reasonable, and when the consciousness of my 
innocence 

Jos. Surf. Ah, my dear madam, there is the 
great mistake ! 'Tis this very conscious in- 
nocence that is of the greatest prejudice to 
you. What is it makes you negligent of 
forms, and careless of the world's opinion? 
why, the consciousness of your own inno- 
cence. What makes you thoughtless in your 
conduct, and apt to run into a thousand little 
imprudences ? why, the consciousness of your 
own innocence. What makes you impatient 
of St. Peter's temper, and outrageous at his 
suspicions ? why, the consciousness of your 
own innocence. 

Lady Teas. 'Tis very true ! 

Jos. Surf. Now, my dear Lady Teazle, if 
you would but once make a trifling faux pas, 
you can't conceive how cautious you would 
grow, and how ready to humor and agree with 
your husband. 

Lady Teas. Do you think so? 

Jos. Surf. Oh, I'm sure on't; and then you 
would find all scandal would cease at once, 
for — in short, your character at present is 
like a person in a plethora, absolutely dying 
from too much health, 

Lady Teas. So, so ; then I perceive your 
prescription is, that I must sin in my own 

35 



Sheridan, 

defence, and part with my virtue to preserve 
my reputation? 

Jos. Surf. Exactly so, upon my credit, 
ma'am. 

Lady Teaz. Well, certainly this is the oddest 
doctrine, and the newest receipt for avoiding 
calumny ! 

Jos. Surf. An infallible one, believe me, 
Prudence, like experience, must be paid for. 

Lady Teaz. Why, if my understanding were 
once convinced 

Jos. Surf. Oh, certainly, madam, your un- 
derstanding should be convinced. Yes, yes — 
Heaven forbid I should persuade you to do 
anything you thought wrong. No, no, I have 
too much honor to desire it. 

Lady Teaz. Don't you think we may as well 
leave honor out of the argument? [Rises. 

Jos. Surf. Ah, the ill effects of your country 
education, I see, still remain with you. 

Lady Teaz. I doubt they do, indeed; and I 
will fairly own to you that, if I could be per- 
suaded to do wrong, it would be by Sir Peter's 
ill-usage sooner than your honorable logic, 
after all. 

Jos. Surf. Then, by this hand, which he is 
unworthy of [Taking her hand. 

Re-enter Servant. 

'Sdeath, you blockhead — what do you want? 
Ser. I beg your pardon, sir, but I thought 
you would not choose Sir Peter to come up 
without announcing him. 

36 



Comedies. 

Jos. Surf. Sir Peter ! — Oons — the devil ! 
Lady Teas. Sir Peter ! O Lud ! I'm ruined ! 
I'm ruined ! 

Ser. Sir, 'twasn't I let him in. 
Lady Teas. Oh ! I'm quite undone ! What 
will become of me ? Now, Mr. Logic — Oh ! 
mercy, sir, he's on the stairs — I'll get behind 

here — and if ever I'm so imprudent again 

[Goes behind the screen. 
Jos. Surf. Give me that book. 

[Sits down. Servant pretends to ad- 
just his chair. 

Enter Sir Peter Teazle. 

Sir Pet. Ay, ever improving himself — Mr. 

Surface, Mr. Surface 

[Pats Joseph on the shoulder. 

Jos. Surf. Oh, my dear Sir Peter, I beg your 
pardon. — [Gaping, throws away the book.'] I 
have been dozing over a stupid book. Well, 
I am much obliged to you for this call. You 
haven't been here, I believe, since I fitted up 
this room. Books, you know, are the only 
things I am a coxcomb in. 

Sir Pet. Tis very neat indeed. Well, 
well, that's proper ; and you can make even 
your screen a source of knowledge — hung, I 
perceive, with maps. 

Jos. Surf. Oh, yes, I find great use in that 
screen. 

Ser. Pet. I dare say you must, certainly, 
when you want to find anything in a hurry. 

37 



Sheridan. 

Jos. Surf. Ay, or to hide anything in a 
hurry either. [Aside. 

Sir Pet. Well, I have a little private busi- 
ness 

Jos. Surf. You need not stay. [To Servant. 

Ser. No, sir. [Exit. 

Jos. Surf. Here's a chair, Sir Peter — I 
beg 

Sir Pet. Well, now we are alone, there is a 
subject, my dear friend, on which I wish to 
unburden my mind to you — a point of the 
greatest moment to my peace ; in short, my 
good friend, Lady Teazle's conduct of late has 
made me very unhappy. 

Jos. Surf. Indeed ! I am very sorry to hear it. 

Sir Pet. Yes, 'tis but too plain she has not 
the least regard for me ; but, what's worse, I 
have pretty good authority to suppose she has 
formed an attachment to another. 

Jos. Surf. Indeed ! you astonish me ! 

Sir Pet. Yes ! and, between ourselves, I 
think I've discovered the person. 

Jos. Surf. How ! you alarm me exceedingly. 

Sir Pet. Ay, my dear friend, I knew you 
would sympathize with me ! 

Jos. Surf. Yes, believe me, Sir Peter, such 
a discovery would hint me just as much as it 
would you. 

Sir Pet. I am convinced of it. Ah ! it is a 
happiness to have a friend whom we can trust 
even with one's family secrets. But have you 
no guess who I mean ? 

38 



Comedies. 

Jos. Surf. I haven't the most distant idea. 
It can't be Sir Benjamin Backbite! 

Sir Pet. Oh, no. What say you to Charles ? 

Jos. Surf. My brother ! impossible ! 

Sir. Pet. Oh, my dear friend, the goodness 
of your own heart misleads you. You judge 
of others by yourself. 

Jos. Surf. Certainly, Sir Peter, the heart 
that is conscious of its own integrity is ever 
slow to credit another's treachery. 

Sir Pet. True ; but your brother has no senti- 
ment — you never hear him talk so. 

Jos. Surf. Yet I can't but think Lady Teazle 
herself has too much principle. 

Sir Pet. Ay; but what is principle against 
the flattery of a handsome, lively young fel- 
low ? 

Jos. Surf. That's very true. 

Sir Pet. And then, you know, the dif- 
ference of our ages makes it very improbable 
that she should have any great affection for 
me ; and if she were to be frail, and I were 
to make it public, why the town would only 
laugh at me, the foolish old bachelor, who 
had married a girl. 

Jos. Surf. That's true, to be sure — they 
would laugh. 

Sir Pet. Laugh ! ay, and make ballads, and 
paragraphs, and the devil knows what of me. 

Jos. Surf. No, you must never make it 
public. 

Sir Pet. But then again — that the nephew 

39 



Sheridan. 

of my old friend, Sir Oliver, should be the 
person to attempt such a wrong, hurts me 
more nearly. 

Jos. Surf. Ay, there's the point. When in- 
gratitude barbs the dart of injury, the wound 
has double danger in it. 

Sir Pet. Ay — I, that was, in a manner, left 
his guardian : in whose house he had been so 
often entertained ; who never in my life de- 
nied him — my advice ! 

Jos. Surf. Oh, 'tis not to be credited ! There 
may be a man capable of such baseness, to be 
sure ; but, for my part, till you can give me 
positive proofs, I cannot but doubt it. How- 
ever, if it should be proved on him, he is no 
longer a brother of mine — I disclaim kindred 
with him : for the man who can break the 
laws of hospitality, and tempt the wife of his 
friend, deserves to be branded as the pest of 
society. 

Sir Pet. What a difference there is between 
you ! What noble sentiments ! 

Jos. Surf. Yet I cannot suspect Lady 
Teazle's honor. 

Sir Pet. I am sure I wish to think well of 
her, and to remove all ground of quarrel be- 
tween us. She has lately reproached me more 
than once with having made no settlement on 
her ; and, in our last quarrel, she almost hinted 
that she should not break her heart if I was 
dead. Now, as we seem to differ in our ideas 
of expense, I have resolved she shall have her 

40 



Comedies, 

own way, and be her own mistress in that re- 
spect for the future ; and, if I were to die, she 
will find I have not been inattentive to her in- 
terest while living. Here, my friend, are the 
drafts of two deeds, which I wish to have 
your opinion on. By one, she will enjoy eight 
hundred a year independent while I live ; and, 
by the other, the bulk of my fortvne at my 
death. 

Jos. Surf. This conduct Sir Peter, is indeed 
truly generous. — [Aside.'] I wish it may not 
corrupt my pupil. 

Sir Pet. Yes, I am determined she shall 
have no cause to complain, though I would 
not have her acquainted with the latter in- 
stance of my affection yet awhile. 

Jos. Surf. Nor I, if I could help it. [Aside. 

Sir Pet. And now, my dear friend, if you 
please, we will talk over the situation of your 
hopes with Maria. 

Jos. Surf. [Softly. ] Oh, no, Sir Peter; an- 
other time, if you please. 

Sir Pet. I am sensibly chagrined at the little 
progress you seem to make in her affections. 

Jos. Surf. [Softly.] I beg you will not men- 
tion it. What are my disappointments when 
your happiness is in debate ! — [Aside.] 
'Sdeath, I shall be ruined every way ! 

Sir Pet. And though you are averse to my 
acquainting Lady Teazle with your passion, 
I'm sure she's not your enemy in the affair. 

Jos. Surf. Pray, Sir Peter, now oblige me. 

41 



Sheridan. 

I am really too much affected by the subject we 
have been speaking of to bestow a thought on 
my own concerns. The man who is entrusted 

with his friend's distresses can never 

Re-enter Servant. 
Well, sir? 

Ser. Your brother, sir, is speaking to a 
gentleman in the street, and says he knows 
you are within. 

Jos. Surf. 'Sdeath, blockhead, I'm not with- 
in — I'm out for the day. 

Sir Pet. Stay — hold — a thought has struck 
me : — you shall be at home. 

Jos. Surf. Well, well, let him up. — [Exit 
Servant.] He'll interrupt Sir Peter, however. 

[Aside. 

Sir Pet. Now, my good friend, oblige me, I 
entreat you. Before Charles comes, let me 
conceal myself somewhere, then do you tax 
him on the point we have been talking, and 
his answer may satisfy me at once. 

Jos. Surf. Oh, fie, Sir Peter ! would you have 
me join in so mean a trick? — to trepan my 
brother too? 

Sir Pet. Nay, you tell me you are sure he 
is innocent; if so, you do him the greatest 
service by giving him an opportunity to clear 
himself, and you will set my heart at rest. 
Come, you shall not refuse me : [Going up~\ 
here, behind the screen will be — Hey ! what 
the devil ! there seems to be one listener here 
already — I'll swear I saw a petticoat ! 

42 



Comedies. 

Jos. Surf. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Well, this is ridic- 
ulous enough. I'll tell you, Sir Peter, though 
I hold a man of intrigue to be a most despica- 
ble character, yet, you know, it does not fol- 
low that one is to be an absolute Joseph either ! 
Hark'ee, 'tis a little French milliner, a silly 
rogue that plagues me ; and having some char- 
acter to lose, on your coming, sir, she ran be- 
hind the screen. 

Sir Pet. Ah, Joseph ! Joseph ! Did I ever 
think that you But, egad, she has over- 
heard all I have been saying of my wife. 

Jos. Surf. Oh, 'twill never go any farther, 
you may depend upon it ! 

Sir Pet. No ! then, faith, let her hear it out. 
— Here's a closet will do as well. 

Jos. Surf. Well, go in there. 

Sir Pet. Sly rogue ! sly rogue ! 

[Goes into the closet. 

Jos. Surf. A narrow escape, indeed ! and a 
curious situation I'm in, to part man and wife 
in this manner. 

Lady Teaz. [Peeping.] Couldn't I steal off? 

Jos. Surf. Keep close, my angel ! 

Sir Pet. [Peeping.'] Joseph, tax him home. 

Jos. Surf. Back, my dear friend ! 

Lady Teaz. [Peeping.] Couldn't you lock 
Sir Peter in? 

Jos. Surf. Be still, my life ! 

Sir Pet. [Peeping.] You're sure the little 
milliner won't blab? 

43 



Sheridan. 

Jos. Surf. In, in, my dear Sir Peter ! — 'Fore 
Gad, I wish I had a key to the door. 

Enter Charles Surface. 

Chas. Surf. Holla ! brother, what has been 
the matter ? Your fellow w^ould not let me 
up at first. What! have you had a Jew or a 
wench with you ? 

Jos. Surf. Neither, brother, I assure you. 

Chas. Surf. But what has made Sir Peter 
steal off? I thought he had been with you. 

Jos. Surf. He was, brother; but, hearing 
you were coming, he did not choose to stay. 

Chas. Surf. What ! was the old gentleman 
afraid I wanted to borrow money of him ? 

Jos. Surf. No, sir ; but I am sorry to find, 
Charles, you have lately given that worthy 
man grounds for great uneasiness. 

Chas. Surf. Yes, they tell me I do that to 
a great many worthy men. But how so, pray ? 

Jos. Surf. To be plain with you, brother, he 
thinks you are endeavoring to gain Lady 
Teazle's affections from him. 

Chas. Surf. Who, I ? O Lud ! not I, upon 
my word. — Ha ! ha ! ha ! so the old fellow has 
found out that he has got a young wife, has 
he ? — or, what is worse, Lady Teazle has 
found out she has an old husband? 

Jos. Surf. This is no subject to jest on, 
brother. He who can laugh 

Chas. Surf. True, true, as you were going 
to say — then, seriously, I never had the least 

44 



Comedies. 

idea of what you charge me with, upon rrry 
honor. 

Jos. Surf. Well, it will give Sir Peter great 
satisfaction to hear this. 

[Raising his voice. 

Chas. Surf. To be sure, I once thought the 
lady seemed to have taken a fancy to me ; but, 
upon my soul, I never gave her the least en- 
couragement. Besides, you know my attach- 
ment to Maria. 

Jos. Surf. But sure, brother, even if Lady 
Teazle had betrayed the fondest partiality for 
you 

Chas. Surf. Why, look'ee, Joseph, I hope I 
shall never deliberately do a dishonorable ac- 
tion; but if a pretty woman was purposely to 
throw herself in my way — and that pretty wo- 
man married to a man old enough to be her 
father 

Jos. Surf. Well! 

Chas. Surf. Why, I believe I should be 
obliged to 

Jos. Surf. What? 

Chas. Surf. To borrow a little of your moral- 
ity, that's all. But, brother, do you know 
now that you surprise me exceedingly, by 
naming me with Lady Teazle ; for, i'faith, I 
always understood you were her favorite. 

Jos. Surf. Oh, for shame, Charles ! This 
retort is foolish. 

Chas. Surf. Nay, I swear I have seen you 
exchange such significant glances 

45 



Sheridan, 

Jos. Surf. Nay, nay, sir, this is no jest. 

Chas. Surf. Egad, I'm serious ! Don't you 
remember one day, when I called here — — 

Jos. Surf. Nay, p'rythee. Charles 

Chas. Surf. And found you together 

Jos. Surf. Zounds, sir, I insist 

Chas. Surf. And another time when youi 
servant 

Jos. Surf. Brother, brother, a word with 
you ! — [Aside.'] Gad, I must stop him. 

Chas. Surf. Informed, I say, that 

Jos. Surf. Hush ! I beg your pardon, but 
Sir Peter has overheard all we have been 
saying. I knew you would clear yourself, or 
I should not have consented. 

Chas. Surf. How Sir Peter ! Where is he ? 

Jos. Surf. Softly, there ! 

[Points to the closet. 

Chas. Surf. Oh, 'fore Heaven, I'll have him 
out. Sir Peter, come forth ! 

Jos. Surf. No, no 

Chas. Suff. I say, Sir Peter, come into 
court. — [Pulls in Sir Peter.] What ! my old 
guardian ! — What ! — turn inquisitor, and take 
evidence incog? Oh, fie! Oh, fie! 

Sir Pet. Give me your hand, Charles — I be- 
lieve I have suspected you wrongfully; but 
you mustn't be angry with Joseph — 'twas my 
plan ! 

Chas. Surf. Indeed ! 

Sir Pet. But I acquit you. I promise you I 
don't think near so ill of you as I did: what 

46 



Comedies, 

I have heard has given me great satisfaction. 

Chas. Surf. Egad, then, 'twas lucky you 
didn't hear any more. Wasn't it, Joseph ? 

Sir Pet. Ah ! you would have retorted on 
him. 

Chas. Surf. Ah, ay, that was a joke. 

Sir Pet. Yes, yes, I know his honor too 
well. 

Chas. Surf. But you might as well have sus- 
pected him as me in this matter, for all that. 
Mightn't he, Joseph? 

Sir Pet. Well, well, I believe you. 

Jos. Surf. Would they were both out of the 
room ! [Aside. 

Sir Pet. And in future, perhaps, we may not 
be such strangers. 

Re-enter Servant, and whispers Joseph 
Surface. 

Serv. Lady Sneerwell is below, and says she 
will come up. 

Jos. Surf. Lady Sneerwell ! Gad's life ! she 
must not come here. [Exit Servant.] Gen- 
tlemen, I beg pardon — I must wait on you 
down stairs : here is a person come on particu- 
lar business. 

Chas. Surf. Well, you can see him in an- 
other room. Sir Peter and I have not met a 
long time, and I have something to say to 
him. 

Jos. Surf. [Aside.'] They must not be left 
together. — [Aloud.] I'll send Lady Sneerwell 

47 



Sheridan. 

away, and return directly. — [Aside to Sir 
Peter.] Sir Peter, not a word of the French 
milliner. 

Sir Pet. [Aside to Joseph Surface.] I ! 
not for the world ! — [Exit Joseph Surface.] 
Ah, Charles, if you associated more with your 
brother, one might indeed hope for your refor- 
mation. He is a man of sentiment. Well, 
there is nothing in the world so noble as a 
man of sentiment. 

Chas. Surf. Psha ! he is too moral by half ; 
and so apprehensive of his good name, as he 
calls it, that I suppose he would as soon let a 
priest into his house as a wench. 

Sir Pet. No, no, — come, come, — you wrong 
him. No, no, Joseph is no rake, but he is no 
such saint either, in that respect. — [Aside. ] I 
have a great mind to tell him — we should have 
such a laugh at Joseph. 

Chas. Surf. Oh, hang him ! he's a very an- 
chorite, a young hermit ! 

Sir Pet. Hark'ee — you must not abuse him : 
he may chance to hear of it again, I promise 
you. 

Chas. Surf. Why, you won't tell him? 

Sir Pet. No — but — this way — [Aside. J 
Egad, I'll tell him. — [Aloud.] Hark'ee — have 
you a mind to have a good laugh at Joseph ? 

Chas. Surf. I should like it of all things. 

Sir Pet. Then, i'faith, we will! I'll be quit 
with him for discovering me. He had a girl 
with him when I called. [Whispers. 

48 



Comedies. 

Chas. Surf. What! Joseph? you jest. 

Sir Pet. Hush ! — a little French milliner — 
and the best of the jest is — she's in the room 
now. 

Chas. Surf. The devil she is ! 

Sir Pet. Hush ! I tell you. 

[Points to the screen. 

Chas. Surf. Behind the screen ! 'Slife, let's 
unveil her ! 

Sir Pet. No, no, he's coming: — you shan't, 
indeed ! 

Chas. Surf. Oh, egad, we'll have a peep at 
the little milliner ! 

Sir Pet. Xot for the world ! — Joseph will 
never forgive me. 

Chas. Surf. I'll stand by you 

Sir Pet. Odds, here he is ! 

[Charles Surface throws dozi'n the screen. 

Re-enter Joseph Surface. 

Chas. Surf. Lady Teazle, by all that's won- 
derful ! 

Sir Pet. Ladv Teazle, by all that's damna- 
ble ! 

Chas. Surf. Sir Peter, this is one of the 
smartest French milliners I ever saw. Egad, 
you seem all to have been diverting yourselves 
here at hide and seek, and I don't see who is 
out of the secret. Shall I beg your ladyship 
to inform me? Not a word! — Brother, will 
you be pleased to explain this matter? What! 
is Morality dumb too ? — Sir Peter, though I 

49 



Sheridan. 

found you in the dark, perhaps you are not 
so now ! All mute ! — Well — though I can 
make nothing of the affair, I suppose you per- 
fectly understand one another ; so I'll leave 
you to yourselves — [Going.~\ Brother, I'm 
sorry to find you have given that worthy man 
grounds for so much uneasiness. — Sir Peter ! 
there's nothing in the world so noble as a man 
of sentiment ! [Exit. 

Jos. Surf. Sir Peter — notwithstanding — I 
confess — that appearances are against me — if 
you will afford me your patience — I make no 
doubt — but I shall explain everything to your 
satisfaction. 

Sir Pet. If you please, sir. 

Jos. Surf. The fact is, sir, that Lady Teazle, 
knowing my pretensions to your ward Maria 
— I say, sir, Lady Teazle, being apprehensive 
of the jealousy of your temper — and knowing 
my friendship to the family — she, sir, I say — 
called here — in order that — I might explain 
these pretensions — but on your coming — being 
apprehensive — as I said — of your jealousy — 
she withdrew — and this, you may depend on it, 
is the whole truth of the matter. 

Sir Pet. A very clear account, upon my 
word ; and I dare swear the lady will vouch 
for every article of it. 

Lady Teaz. For not one word of it, Sir 
Peter ! 

Sir Pet. How ! don't you think it worth 
while to agree in the lie ? 

50 



Comedies. 

Lady Teaz. There 13 not one syllable of trutn 
in what that gentlem.m has told you. 

Sir Pet. I believe you, upon my soul, ma'am ! 

Jos. Surf. [Aside to Lady Teazle.] 'Sdeath, 
madam, will you betray me ? 

Lady Teaz. Good Air. Hypocrite, by your 
leave, I'll speak for myself. 

Sir Pet. Ay, let her alone, sir; you'll find 
she'll make out a better story than you, with- 
out prompting. 

Lady Teaz. Hear me. Sir Peter ! — I came 
here on no matter relating to your ward, and 
even ignorant of this gentleman's pretensions 
to her. But I came, seduced by his insidious 
arguments, at least to listen to his pretended 
passion, if not to sacrifice your honor to his 
baseness. 

Sir Pet. Now, I believe, the truth is coming, 
indeed ! 

Jos. Surf. The woman's mad ! 

Lady Teaz. No, sir ; she has recovered her 
senses, and your own arts have furnished her 
with the means. — Sir Peter, I do not expect 
you to credit me — but the tenderness you ex- 
pressed for me, when I am sure you could 
not think I was a witness to it, has so pene- 
trated to my heart, that had I left the place 
without the shame of this discovery, my fu- 
ture life should have spoken the sincerity of 
my gratitude. As for that smooth-tongued 
hypocrite, who would have seduced the wife 
of his too credulous friend, while he affected 

51 



Sheridan. 

honorable addresses to his ward — I behold 
him now in a light so truly despicable, that I 
shall never against respect myself for having 
listened to him. [Exit. 

Jos. Surf. Notwithstanding all this, Sir 
Peter, Heaven knows 

Sir Pet. That you are a villain ! and so I 
leave you to your conscience. 

Jos. Surf. You are too rash, Sir Peter ; you 
shall hear me. The man who shuts out con- 
viction by refusing to 

Sir Pet. Oh, damn your sentiments ! 

[Exeunt Sir Peter and Joseph Surface, 
talking. 



52 



FRIENDLY CRITICISM. 

THE CRITIC. ACT I. SCENE I. 

Dangle, Mrs. Dangle, and Sneer on the 
stage. 

Enter Servant. 

Ser. Sir Fretful Plagiary, sir. 

Dang. Beg him to walk up. — [Exit Ser- 
vant.] Now, Mrs. Dangle, Sir Fretful 
Plagiary is an author to your own taste. 

Mrs. Dang. I confess he is a favorite of 
mine, because everybody else abuses him. 

Sneer. Very much to the credit of your 
charity, madam, if not of your judgment. 

Dang. But, egad, he allows no merit to any 
author but himself, that's the truth on't — 
though he's my friend. 

Sneer. Never. — He is as envious as an old 
maid verging on the desperation of six and 
thirty ; and then the insidious humility with 
which he seduces you to give a free opinion 
on any of his works, can be exceeded only by 

53 



Sheridan. 

the petulant arrogance with which he is sure 
to reject your observations. 

Dang. Very true, egad — though he's my 
friend. 

Sneer. Then his affected contempt of all 
newspaper strictures ; though, at the same 
time, he is the sorest man alive, and shrinks 
like scorched parchment from the fiery ordeal 
of true criticism : yet is he so covetous of 
popularity, that he had rather be abused than 
not mentioned at all. 

Dang. There's no denying it — though he is 
my friend. 

Sneer. You have read the tragedy he has 
just finished, haven't you? 

Dang. Oh, yes ; he sent it to me yesterday. 

Sneer. Well, and you think it execrable, 
don't you? 

Dang. Why, between ourselves, egad, T 
must own — though he is my friend — that it is 

one of the most He's here — [Aside.'] — 

finished and most admirable perform 

Sir Fret. [Without. .] Mr. Sneer with him, 
did you say? 

Enter Sir Fretful Plagiary. 

Dang. Ah, my dear friend ! — Egad, we were 
just speaking of your tragedy. — Admirable, 
Sir Fretful, admirable ! 

Sneer. You never did anything bevond it. 
Sir Fretful — never in your life. 

Sir Fret. You make me extremely happy ; 

54 



Comedies. 

for without a compliment, my dear Sneer, 
there isn't a man in the world whose judg- 
ment I value as I do yours and Mr. Dangle's. 

Mrsr Dang. 'They are only laughing at you, 
Sir Fretful; for it was but just now that 

Dang. Mrs. Dangle ! — Ah, Sir Fretful, you 
know Mrs. Dangle. — My friend Sneer was 
rallying just now: — he knows how she ad- 
mires you, and 

Sir Fret. O Lord, I am sure Mr. Sneer has 

more taste and sincerity than to [Aside.] 

A damned double-faced fellow ! 

Dang. Yes, yes — Sneer will jest — but a bet- 
ter humored 

Sir Fret. Oh, I know 



Dang. He has a ready turn for ridicule — 
his wit costs him nothing. 

Sir Fret. No, egad — or I should wonder how 
he came by it. [Aside. 

Mrs. Dang. Because his jest is always at the 
expense of his friend. [Aside. 

Dang. But, Sir Fretful, have you sent your 
play to the managers yet? — or can I be of any 
service to you ? 

Sir Fret. No, no, I thank you : I believe the 
piece had sufficient recommendation with it. — 
I thank you though. — I sent it to the man- 
ager of Covent Garden Theatre this morn- 
ing. 

Sneer. I should have thought now, that it 
might have been cast (as the actors call it) 
better at Drury Lane. 

55 



Sheridan. 

Sir Fret. O lud ! no — never send a play 
there while I live — hark'ee ! 

[Whispers Sneer. 

Sneer. Writes himself ! — I know he does. 

Sir Fret. I say nothing — I take away from 
no man's merit — am hurt at no man's good 
fortune — I say nothing. — But this I will say — 
through all my knowledge of life, I have ob- 
served — that there is not a passion so strongly 
rooted in the human heart as envy. 

Sneer. I believe you have reason for what 
you say, indeed. 

Sir Fret. Besides — I can tell you it is not 
always so safe to leave a play in the hands 
of those who write themselves. 

Sneer. What, they may steal from them, 
,hey, my dear Plagiary? 

Sir Fret. Steal ! — to be sure they may ; and, 
egad, serve your best thoughts as gypsies do 
stolen children, disfigure them to make 'em 
pass for their own. 

Sneer. But your present work is a sacrifice 
to Melpomene, and he, you know, never 

Sir Fret. That's no security : a dexterous 
plagiarist may do anything. Why, sir, for 
aught I know, he might take out some of the 
best things in my tragedy, and put them into 
his own comedy. 

Sneer. That might be done, I dare be sworn. 

Sir Fret. And then, if such a person gives 
you the least hint or assistance, he is devilish 
apt to take the merit of the whole 

56 



ComedieSc 

Dang. If it succeeds. 

Sir Fret. Ay, but with regard to this piece, 
I think I can hit that gentleman, for I can 
safely swear he never read it. 

Sneer. I'll tell you how, you may hurt him 
more. 

Sir Fret. How ? 

Sneer. Swear he wrote it. 

Sir Fret. Plague on't now, Sneer, I shall 
take it ill ! — I believe you want to take away 
my character as an author. 

Sneer. Then I am sure you ought to be very 
much obliged to me. 

Sir Fret. Hey ! — sir ! 

Dang. Oh, you know, he never means what 
he says. 

Sir Fret. Sincerely then — you do like the 
piece? 

Sneer. Wonderfully ! 

Sir Fret. But come now, there must be some- 
thing that you think might be mended, hey ? — 
Mr. Dangle, has nothing struck you ? * 

Dang. Why, faith, it is but an ungracious 
thing, for the most part, to 

Sir Fret. With most authors it is just so 
indeed; they are in general strangely tena- 
cious ! But, for my part, I am never so well 
pleased as when a judicious critic points out 
any defect to me ; for what is the purpose of 
showing a work to a friend, if you don't mean 
to profit by his opinion? 

Sneer. Very true. — Why then, though I seri- 

57 



Sheridan. 

ously admire the piece upon the whole, yet 
there is one small objection; which, if you'll 
give me leave, I'll mention. 

Sir Fret. Sir, you can't oblige me more. 

Sneer. I think it wants incident. 

Sir Fret. Good God ! you surprise me ! — 
wants incident ! 

Sneer. Yes; I own I think the incidents are 
too few. 

Sir Fret. Good God ! Believe me, Mr. 
Sneer, there is no person for whose judgment 
I have a more implicit deference. But I pro- 
test to you, Mr. Sneer, I am only apprehen- 
sive that the incidents are too crowded. — My 
dear Dangle, how does it strike you ? 

Dang. Really I can't agree with my friend 
Sneer. I think the plot quite sufficient ; and 
the four first acts by many degrees the best I 
ever read or saw in my life. If I might ven- 
ture to suggest anything, it is that the in- 
terest rather falls off in the fifth. 

Sir Fret. Rises, I believe you mean, sir. 

Dang. No, I don't upon my word. 

Sir Fret. Yes, yes, you do, upon my soul ! — 
it certainly don't fall off, I assure you. — No, 
no ; it don't fall off. 

Dang. Now, Mrs. Dangle, didn't you say it 
struck you in the same light? 

Mrs. Dang. No, indeed, I did not. — I did 
not see a fault in any part of the play, from 
the beginning to the end. 

58 



Comedies. 

Sir Fret. Upon my soul, the women are the 
best judges after all ! 

Mrs. Dang. Or, if I made any objection, 
I am sure it was to nothing in the piece ; but 
that I was afraid it was, on the whole, a little 
too long. 

Sir Fret. Pray, madam, do you speak as 
to duration of time; or do you mean that the 
story is tediously spun out? 

Mrs. Dang. O lud ! no. — I speak only with 
reference to the usual length of acting plays. 

Sir Fret. Then I am very happy— very 
happy indeed — because the play is a short 
play, a remarkably short play. I should not 
venture to differ with a lady on a point of 
taste ; but, on these occasions, the watch, you 
know, is the critic. 

Mrs. Dang. Then, I suppose, it must have 
been Mr. Dangle's drawling manner of read- 
ing it to me. 

Sir Fret. Oh, if Mr. Dangle read it, that's 
quite another affair ! — But, I assure you, Mrs. 
Dangle, the first evening you can spare me 
three hours and a half, I'll undertake to read 
you the whole from beginning to end, with the 
prologue and epilogue, and allow time for the 
music between the acts. 

Mrs. Dang. I hope to see it on the stage 
next. 

Dang. Well, Sir Fretful, I wish you may 
be able to get rid as easily of the news- 
paper criticisms as you do of ours. 

59 



Sheridan. 

Sir Fret. The newspapers ! Sir, they are 
the most villainous — licentious — abomina- 
ble — infernal — Not that I ever read them — 
no — I make it a rule never to look into a 
newspaper. 

Dang. You are quite right ; for it certainly 
must hurt an author of delicate feelings to 
see the liberties they take. 

Sir Fret. No, quite the contrary ! their 
abuse is, in fact, the best panegyric — I like 
it of all things. An author's reputation is only 
in danger from their support. 

Sneer. Why that's true — and that attack, 
now, on you the other day 

Sir Fret. What ? where ? 

Dang. Ay, you mean in a paper of Thurs- 
day ; it was completely ill-natured, to be sure. 

Sir Fret. Oh, so much the better. — Ha ! ha ! 
ha ! I wouldn't have it otherwise. 

Dang. Certainly it is only to be laughed 
at ; for 

Sir Fret. You don't happen to recollect 
what the fellow said, do you? 

Sneer. Pray, Dangle — Sir Fretful seems a 
little anxious 

Sir Fret. O lud, no ! — anxious ! — not I — 
not the least. — I — but one may as well hear, 
you know. 

Dane. Sneer, do vou recollect? — [Aside to 
Sneer.] Make out something. 

Sneer. [Aside to Dangle.] T will. — 
[Aloud.'] Yes, yes, I remember perfectly. 

60 



Comedies. 

Sir Fret. Well, and pray now — not that it 
signifies — what might the gentleman say ? 

Sneer. Why, he roundly asserts that you 
have not the slightest invention or original 
genius whatever; though. you are the greatest 
traducer of all other authors living. 

Sir Fret. Ha ! ha ! ha ! — very good ! 

Sneer. That as to comedy, you have not 
one idea of your own, he believes, even in 
your commonplace-book — where stray jokes 
and pilfered witticisms are kept with as much 
method as the ledger of the lost and stolen 
office. 

Sir Fret. Ha ! ha ! ha ! — very pleasant ! 

Sneer. Nay, that you are so unlucky as not 
to have the skill even to steal with taste — 
but that you glean from the refuse of obscure 
volumes, where more judicious plagiarists 
have been before you ; so that the body of 
your work is a composition of dregs and senti- 
ments — like a bad tavern's worst wine. 

Sir Fret. Ha ! ha ! 

Sneer. In your more serious efforts, he 
says, your bombast would be less intolerable, 
if the thoughts were ever suited to the ex- 
pression, but the homeliness of the sentiment 
stares through the fantastic encumbrance of 
its fine language, like a clown in one of the 
new uniforms ! 

Sir Fret. Ha ! ha ! 

Sneer. That your occasional tropes and 
flowers suit the general coarseness of your 

61 



Sheridan. 

style, as tambour sprigs would a ground of 
linsey-woolsey, while your imitations of 
Shakespeare resemble the mimicry of Fal- 
stafFs page, and are about as near the stand- 
ard of the original. 

Sir Fret. Ha ! 

Sneer. In short, that even the finest pas- 
sages you steal are of no service to you ; for 
the poverty of your own language prevents 
their assimilating; so that they lie on the sur- 
face like lumps of marl on a barren moor, 
encumbering what it is not in their power to 
fertilize ! 

Sir Fret. [After great agitation.'] Now, 
another person would be vexed at this ! 

Sneer. Oh ! but I wouldn't have told you — 
only to divert you. 

Sir Fret. I know it — I am diverted. — Ha ! 
ha ! ha ! — not the least invention ! — Ha ! ha ! 
ha ! — very good ! — very good ! 

Sneer. Yes — no genius ! ha ! ha ! ha ! 

Dang. A severe rogue ! ha ! ha ! ha ! But 
you are quite right, Sir Fretful, never to read 
such nonsense. 

Sir Fret. To be sure — for if there is any- 
thing to one's praise, it is a foolish vanity 
to be gratified at it ; and, if it is abuse — why 
one is always sure to hear of it from one 
damned good-natured friend or another ! 

Dang. Now, Sir Fretful, if you have a mind 
to have justice done you in the way of an- 
swer, egad, Mr. Puff's your man. 

62 



Comedies. 

Sir Fret. Psha ! sir, why should I wish 
to have it answered, when I tell you I am 
pleased at it? 

Dang. True, I had forgot that. But I hope 
you are not fretted at what Mr. Sneer 

Sir Fret. Zounds ! no, Mr. Dangle ; don't I 
tell you these things never fret me in the 
least? 

Dang. Nay, I only thought 

Sir Fret. And let me tell you, Mr. Dangle, 
'tis damned affronting in you to suppose that 
I am hurt when I tell you I am not. 

Sneer. But why so warm, Sir Fretful ? 

Sir Fret. Gad's life ! Mr. Sneer, you are 
as absurd as Dangle ; how often must I re- 
peat it to you, that nothing can vex me but 
your supposing it possible for me to mind 
the damned nonsense you have been repeat- 
ing to me ! — and, let me tell you, if you con- 
tinue to believe this, you must mean to insult 
me, gentlemen — and, then, your disrespect will 
affect me no more than the newspaper criti- 
cisms — and I shall treat it with exactly the 
same calm indifference and philosophic con- 
tempt — and so your servant. {Exit. 



63 



THE ART OF PUFFING. 

THE CRITIC. ACT I. SCENE II. 

Dangle and Sneer. 

Enter Servant. 
Ser. Mr. Puff, sir. [Exit. 

Enter Puff. 

Dang. My dear Puff! 

Puff. My dear Dangle, how is it with you? 

Dang. Mr. Sneer, give me leave to intro- 
duce Mr. Puff to you. 

Puff. Mr. Sneer is this ? — Sir, he is a 
gentleman whose critical talents and trans- 
cendent judgment 

Sneer. Dear sir 

Dang. Nay, don't be modest. Sneer ; my 
friend Puff only talks to you in the style of 
his profession. 

Sneer. His profession ! 

Puff. Yes, sir; I make no secret of the 
trade I follow among friends and brother 
authors. Dangle knows I love to be frank on 

64 



Comedies. 

the subject, and to advertise myself viva 
voce. — I am sir, a practitioner in panegyric, 
or, to speak more plainly, a professor of the 
art of puffing, at your service — or anybody 
else's. 

Sneer. Cir, you are very obliging! — I be- 
lieve, Mr. Puff, I have often admired your 
talents in the daily prints. 

Puff. Yes, sir, I flatter myself I do as much 
business in that way as any six of the fra- 
ternity in town. — Devilish hard work all the 
summer, friend Dangle — never worked 
harder ! But, hark'ee — the winter managers 
were a little sore, I believe. 

Dang. Xo, I believe they took it all in good 
part. 

Puff. Ay ! then that must have been affecta- 
tion in them ; for, egad, there were some of 
the attacks which there was no laughing at ! 

Sneer. Ay, the humorous ones. — But I 
should think, Mr. Puff, that authors would 
in general be able to do this sort of work 
for themselves. 

Puff. Why, yes— but in a clumsy way. Be- 
sides, we look on that as an encroachment, 
and so take the opposite side. I dare say, 
now, you conceive half the very civil para- 
graphs and advertisements you see to be writ- 
ten by the parties concerned, or their friends ? 
Xo such thing : nine out of ten manufactured 
by me in the way of business. 

Sneer. Indeed ! 

65 



Sheridan. 

Puff. Even the auctioneers now — the 
auctioneers, I say — though the rogues have 
lately got some credit for their language — 
not an article of the merit theirs ; take them 
out of their pulpits, and they are as dull as 
catalogues ! — No, sir ; 'twas I first enriched 
their style — 'twas I first taught them to crowd 
their advertisements with panegyrical super- 
latives, each epithet rising above the other, 
like the bidders in their own auction-rooms ! 
From me they learned to inlay their phrase- 
ology with variegated chips of exotic meta- 
phor; by me too their inventive faculties were 
called forth : — yes, sir, by me they were in- 
structed to clothe ideal walls with gratuitous 
fruits — to insinuate obsequious rivulets into 
visionary groves — to teach courteous shrubs 
to nod their approbation of the grateful soil ; 
or, on emergencies, to raise upstart oaks, 
where there never had been an acorn; to cre- 
ate a delightful vicinage without the assis- 
tance of a neighbor ; or fix the temple of 
Hygeia in the fens of Lincolnshire ! 

Dang. I am sure you have done them in- 
finite service; for now, when a gentleman 
is ruined, he parts with his house with some 
credit. 

Sneer. Service ! if they had any gratitude, 
they would erect a statue to him; they would 
figure him as a presiding Mercury, the god of 
traffic and fiction, with a hammer in his hand 
instead of a caduceus. — But pray, Mr. Puff, 

66 



Comedies. 

what first put you on exercising your talents 
in this way? 

Puff. Egad, sir, sheer necessity ! — the 
proper parent of an art so nearly allied to 
invention. You must know, Mr. Sneer, that 
from the first time I tried my hand at an ad- 
vertisement, my success was such, that for 
some time after I led a most extraordinary 
life indeed ! 

Sneer. How, pray? 

Puff. Sir, I supported myself two years 
entirely by my misfortunes. 

Sneer. By your misfortunes ! 

Puff. Yes, sir, assisted by long sickness, 
and other occasional disorders ; and a very 
comfortable living I had of it. 

Sneer. From sickness and misfortunes ! 
You practised as a doctor and an attorney at 
once? 

Puff. No, egad; both maladies and miseries 
were my own. 

Sneer. Hey! what the plague! 

Dang. 'Tis true, i'faith. 

Puff. Hark'ee ! — By advertisements — To 
the charitable and humane! and To those 
whom Providence hath blessed with affluence! 

Sneer. Oh, I understand you. 

Puff. And, in truth, I deserved what I got ! 
for, I suppose never man went through such 
a series of calamities in the same space of 
time. Sir, I was five times made a bank- 
rupt, and reduced from a state of affluence, 

67 



Sheridan. 

by a train of unavoidable misfortunes ; then, 
sir, though a very industrious tradesman, I 
was twice burned out, and lost my little all 
both times : I lived upon those fires a month. 
I soon after was confined by a most excruci- 
ating disorder, and lost the use of my limbs : 
that told very well ; for I had the case strongly 
attested, and went about to collect the sub- 
scriptions myself. 

Dang. Egad, I believe that was when you 
first called on me. 

Puff. In November last ? — O no ; I was at 
that time a close prisoner in the Marshalsea, 
for a debt benevolently contracted to serve 
a friend. I was afterwards twice tapped for 
a dropsy, which declined into a very profitable 
consumption. I was then reduced to — O no — 
then, I became a widow with six helpless 
children, after having had eleven husbands 
pressed, and being left every time eight 
months gone with child, and without money 
to get me into an hospital ! 

Sneer. And you bore all with patience, I 
make no doubt? 

Puff. Why, yes; though I made some oc- 
casional attempts at felo de se ; but as I did 
not find those rash actions answer, I left off 
killing myself very soon. Well, sir, at last, 
what with bankruptcies, fires, gouts, dropsies, 
imprisonments and other valuable calamities, 
having got together a pretty handsome sum, 
I determined to quit a business which had 

68 



Comedies. 

always gone rather against my conscience, 
and in a more liberal way still to indulge my 
talents for fiction and embellishments, through 
my favourite channels of diurnal communica- 
tion — and so, sir, you have my history. 

Sneer. Most obligingly communicative in- 
deed ! and your confession, if published, might 
certainly serve the cause of true charity, by 
rescuing the most useful channels of appeal 
to benevolence from the cant of imposition. 
But surely, Mr. Puff, there is no great mys- 
tery in your present profession? 

Puff. Mystery, sir ! I will take upon me 
to say the matter was never scientifically 
treated nor reduced to rule before. 

Sneer. Reduced to rule ! 

Puff. O lud, sir, you are very ignorant, I 
c-m afraid ! — Yes, sir, puffing is of various 
sorts ; the principal are, the puff direct, the 
puff preliminary, the puff collateral, the puff 
collusive, and the puff oblique or puff by im- 
plication. These all assume, as circumstances 
require, the various forms of Letter to the 
Editor, Occasional x\necdote. Impartial Cri- 
tique, Observation from Correspondent, or Ad- 
vertisement from the Party. 

Sneer. The puff direct, I can conceive 

Puff. O yes, that's simple enough ! For 
instance — a new comedy or farce is to be 
produced at one of the theatres (though by- 
the-by they don't bring out half what they 
ought to do) — the author, suppose Mr. Smat- 

69 



Sheridan. 

ter, or Mr. Dapper, or any particular friend 
of mine — very well ; the day before it is to 
be performed, I write an account of the man- 
ner in which it was received; I have the plot 
from the author, and only add — "characters 
strongly drawn — highly colored — hand of 
a master — fund of genuine humor — mine of 
invention — neat dialogue — Attic salt." Then 
for the performance — "Mr. Dodd was aston- 
ishly great in the character of Sir Harry. 
That universal and judicious actor, Mr. 
Palmer, perhaps never appeared to more ad- 
vantage than in the colonel; — but it is not 
in the power of language to do justice to 
Mr. King: indeed he more than merited those 
repeated bursts of applause which he drew 
from a most brilliant and judicious audience. 
As to the scenery — the miraculous powers of 
Mr. De Loutherbourg's pencil are universally 
acknowlerlged. In short, we are at a loss 
which to admire most, the unrivalled genius 
of the author, the great attention and liber- 
ality of the managers, the wonderful abilities 
of the painter, or the incredible exertions of 
all the performers. " 

Sneer. That's pretty well indeed, sir. 

Puff. Oh, cool ! — quite cool ! — to what I 
sometimes do. 

Sneer. And do you think there are any who 
are influenced by this? 

Puff. O lud, yes, sir ! the number of those 

70 



Comedies. 

who undergo the fatigue of judging for them- 
selves is very small indeed. 

Sneer. Well, sir, the puff preliminary? 

Puff. O, that, sir, does well in the form 
of a caution. In a matter of gallantry now — 
Sir Flimsy Gossamer wishes to be well with 
Lady Fanny Fete — he applies to me — I open 
trenches for him with a paragraph in the 
Morning Post. — "It is recommended to the 
beautiful and accomplished Lady F four stars 
F dash E to be on her guard against that 
dangerous character, Sir F dash G ; who, 
however pleasing and insinuating his manners 
may be, is certainly not remarkable for the 
constancy of his attachments!" in italics. 
Here, you see, Sir Flimsy Gossamer is intro- 
duced to the particular notice of Lady Fanny, 
who perhaps never thought of him before — 
she finds herself publicly cautioned to avoid 
him, which naturally makes her desirous of 
seeing him ; the observation of their acquain- 
tance causes a pretty kind of mutual embar- 
rassment; this produces a sort of sympathy 
of interest, which if Sir Flimsy is unable to 
improve effectually, he at least gains the 
credit of having their names mentioned to- 
gether, by a particular set, and in a particu- 
lar way — which nine times out of ten is the 
full accomplishment of modern gallantry. 

Dang. Egad, Sneer, you will be quite an 
adept in the business. 

Puff. Now, sir, that puff collateral is much 

71 



Sheridan. 

used as an appendage to advertisements, and 
may take the form of anecdote. — "Yesterday, 
as the celebrated George Bonmot was saunt- 
ering down St. James's Street, he met the 
lively Lady Mary Myrtle coming out of the 
park: — 'Good God, Lady Mary, I'm surprised 
to meet you in a white jacket, — for I expected 
never to have seen you, but in a full-trimmed 
uniform and a light horseman's cap !' — 'Heav- 
ens, George, where could you have learned 
that?' — 'Why,' replied the wit, 'I just saw a 
print of you in a new publication called the 
Camp Magazine ; which, by-the-by, is a 
devilish clever thing, and is sold at No. 3, 
on the right hand of the way, two doors 
from the printing-office, the corner of Ivy 
Lane, Paternoster Row, price only one shil- 
ling.' » 

Sneer. Very ingenious indeed ! 

Puff. But the puff* collusive is the newest 
of any; for it acts in the disguise of de- 
termined hostility. It is much used by bold 
booksellers and enterprising poets — "An in- 
dignant correspondent observes that the new 
poem called Beelzebub's Cotillon, or Proser- 
pine's Fete Champetre, is one of the most un- 
justifiable performances he ever read. The 
severity with which certain characters are 
handled is quite shocking: and as there are 
many descriptions in it too warmly colored 
for female delicacy, the shameful avidity with 
which this piece is bought by all people of 

179 



Comedies. 

fashion is a reproach on the taste of the times, 
and a disgrace to the delicacy of the age." 
Here you see the two strongest inducements 
are held forth ; first, that nobody ought to 
read it; and secondly, that everybody buys 
it : on the strength of which the publisher 
boldly prints the tenth edition, before he had 
sold ten of the first ; and then establishes it 
by threatening himself with the pillory, or 
absolutely indicting himself for scan. mag. 

Dang. Ha ! ha ! ha ! — 'gad, I know it is so. 

Puff. As to the puff oblique, or puff by 
implication, it is too various and extensive 
to be illustrated by an instance; it attracts 
in titles and presumes in patents ; it lurks 
in the limitation of a subscription, and invites 
in the assurance of crowd and incommodation 
at public places ; it delights to draw forth con- 
cealed merit, with a most disinterested as- 
siduity ; and sometimes wears a countenance 
of smiling censure and tender reproach. It 
has a wonderful memory for parliamentary 
debates, and will often give the whole speech 
of a favored member with the most flattering 
accuracy. But, above all, it is a great 
dealer in reports and suppositions. It has 
the earliest intelligence of intended prefer- 
ments that will reflect honor on the patrons; 
and embryo promotions of modest gentlemen, 
who know nothing of the matter themselves. 
It can hint a ribbon for implied services in 
the air of a common report ; and with the 

73 



Sheridan. 

carelessness of a casual paragraph, suggest 
officers into commands, to which they have 
no pretension but their wishes. This, sir, is 
the last principal class of the art of puffing — 
an art which I hope you will now agree with 
me is of the highest dignity, yielding a tab- 
lature of benevolence and public spirit; be- 
friending equally trade, gallantry, criticism, 
and politics ; the applause of genius — the 
register of charity — the triumph of heroism — 
the self-defence of contractors — the fame of 
orators — and the gazette of ministers. 

Sneer. Sir, I am completely a convert both 
to the importance and ingenuity of your pro- 
fession; and now, sir, there is but one thing 
which can possibly increase my respect for 
you, and that is, your permitting me to be 
present this morning at the rehearsal of your 
new trage 

Puff. Hush, for heaven's sake ! — My trage- 
dy ! — Egad, Dangle, I take this very ill ; you 
know how apprehensive I am of being known 
to be the author. 

Dang. V faith I would not have told — but 
it's in the papers, and your name at length 
in the Morning Chronicle. 

Puff. Ah ! those damned editors never can 
keep a secret ! — Well, Mr Sneer, no doubt 
you will do me great honor — I shall be in- 
finitely happy — highly flattered 

Dang. I believe it must be near the time — 
shall we go together? 



Comedies. 

Puff. No; it will not be yet this hour, for 
they are always late at that theatre; besides, 
I must meet you there, for I have some little 
matters here to send to the papers, and a few 
paragraphs to scribble before I go — [Looking 
at memorandums.'] Here is A conscientious 
Baker, on the subject of the Army Bread; 
and A Detester of visible Brickwork, in 
favour of the new-invented Stucco; both in 
the style of Junius, and promised for to- 
morrow. The Thames navigation too is at a 
stand. Miso-mud or Anti-shoal must go to 
work again directly. — Here too are some po- 
litical memorandums — I see ; ay — To take 
Paul Jones, and get the Indiamen out of the 
Shannon — reinforce Byron — compel the 
Dutch to — so ! — I must do that in the even- 
ing papers, or reserve it for the Morning 
Herald; for I know that I have undertaken 
to-morrow, besides, to establish the unani- 
mity of the fleet in the Public Advertiser, and 
to shoot Charles Fox in the Morning Post. — 
So, egad, I han't a moment to lose. 

Dang. Well, we'll meet in the Green 
Room. [Exeunt severally. 



75 



Verses to the Memory of 
Garrick. 



Verses to the Memory of 
Garrick. 

Spoken as a Monody, at the Theatre Royal 
in Drury Lane. 

If dying excellence deserves a tear, 

If fond remembrance still is cherished here, 

Can we persist to bid your sorrows How 

For fabled suff'rers and delusive woe? 

Or with quaint smiles dismiss the plaintive 

strain, 
Point the quick jest — indulge the comic 

vein — 
Ere yet to buried Roscius we assign 
One kind regret — one tributary line! 

His fame requires we act a tenderer part: 
His memory claims the tear you gave his art! 
The general voice, the meed of mournful 

verse, 
The splendid sorrows that adorn d his hearse, 
The throng that mourn' d as their dead 

favorite passed, 
The graced respect that claimed him " to the 

last, 

79 



Sheridan. 

While Shakespeare's image from its hallow'd 

base 
Seem'd to prescribe the grave, and point the 

place, — 
Nor these — nor all the sad regrets that How 
From fond fidelity's domestic woe — 
So much are Garrick's praise — so much his 

due — 
As on this spot — one tear bestow' d by you. 

Amid the hearts which seek ingenious fame, 
Our toil attempts the most precarious claim! 
To him whose mimic pencil wins the prize, 
Obedient Fame immortal wreaths supplies; 
What e'er of wonder Reynolds now may 

raise, 
Raphael still boasts contemporary praise: — 
Each dazzling light and gaudier bloom sub- 
dued, 
With undiminished awe his works are view'd; 
E'en Beauty's portrait wears a softer prime, 
Touch'd by the tender hand of mellowing 

Time. 
The patient Sculptor owns an humbler part, 
A ruder toil, and more mechanic art; 
Content with slow and timorous stroke to 

trace 
The lingering line, and mould the tardy 

grace ; 
But once achieved — though barbarous wreck 

o'er throw 
The sacred fane, and lay its glories low, 

80 



Verses to the Memory of Garrick. 

Yet shall the sculptured ruin rise to day, 
Graced by defect, and wor-,hip'd m decay; 
Tli enduring record bears the artist's name, 
Demands his honors, and asserts his fame. 

Superior hopes the Poet's bosom tire; 
O proud distinction of the sacred lyre! 
Wide as th' inspiring Phoebus darts his ray, 
Diffusive splendor gilds his votary's lay. 
Whether the song heroic woes rehearse, 
With epic grandeur, and the pomp of verse; 
Or, fondly gay, with unambitious guile, 
Attempt no prize but favoring beauty's smile ; 
Or bear dejected to the lonely grove 
The soft despair of unprevailing love — 
Whatever the theme — through every age and 

clime 
Congenial passions meet th' according rhyme; 
The pride of glory — pity's sigh sincere — 
Ymith's earliest blush — and beauty's virgin 

tear. 
Such is their meed — their honors thus 

secure, 
Whose arts yield objects, and zvhose works 

endure. 
The Actor, only, shrinks from Time's award; 
Feeble tradition is his memory's guard; 
By whose faint breath his merits must abide, 
Unvouclid by proof — to substance unallied! 
E'en matchless Garrick' s art, to heaven re- 

sign'd, 
No fix'd effect, no model leaves behind I 

81 



Sheridan. 

The grace of action — the adapted mien. 
Faithful as nature to the varied scene; 
TW expressive glance — whose subtile com- 
ment draws 
Entranced attention, and a mute applause; 
Gesture that marks, with force and feeling 

fraught, 
A sense in silence, and a will in thought; 
Harmonious speech, whose pure and liquid 

tone 
Gives verse a music, scarce confessed its own; 
As light from gems assumes a brighter ray, 
And clothed with orient hues, transcends the 

day ! 
Passion's wild break — and frown that awes 

the sense 
And every charm of gentler eloquence — 
All perishable ! like th' electric fire, 
But strike the frame — and as they strike 

expire ; 
Incense too pure a bodied ilame to bear, 
Its fragrance charms the sense, and blends 

with air. 
Where then — while sunk in cold decay he 

lies, 
And pale eclipse for ever veils those eyes — 
Where is the blest memorial that ensures 
Our Garrick's fame? — whose is the trust? — 

"Tis yours. 
And O! by every charm his art assay'd 
To soothe your cares! — by every grief allay' d! 

82 



Verses to the Memory of Garrick. 

By the hush'd wonder which his accents drew ! 

By his last parting tear, repaid by you! 

By all those thoughts, which many a distant 

night 
Shall mark his memory with a sad delight! 
Still in. your hearts' dear record bear his name ; 
Cherish the keen regret that lifts his fame; 
To you it is bequeathed — assert the trust, 
And to his worth — 'tis all you can — be just. 
What more is due from sanctifying Time, 
To cheerful wit, and many a favor 'd rhyme, 
O'er his graced urn shall bloom, a deathless 
wreath, 

Whose blossom' d sweets shall deck the mask 

beneath. 
For these — when Sculpture's votive toil shall 

rear 
The due memorial of a loss so dear — 
loveliest mourner, gentle Muse! be thine 
The pleasing woe to guard the laurell'd shrine. 
As Fancy, oft by Superstition led 
To roam the mansions of the sainted dead, 
Has view'd by shadowy eve's unfaithful gloom 
A weeping cherub on a martyr's tomb — 
So thou, sweet Muse, hang o'er his sculptured 

bier 
With patient woe, that loves the lingering 

tear; 
With thoughts that mourn — nor yet desire 

relief ; 
With meek regret, and fond enduring grief ; 

83 " 



Sheridan. 

With looks that speak — He never shall 

return ! 
Chilling thy tender bosom, clasp his urn; 
And with soft sighs disperse th' irr ever end 

dust 
Which Time may strew upon his sacred bust. 



84 



Speeches. 



Speeches, 



ON THE FOURTH CHARGE AGAINST 
WARREN HASTINGS. 

(This was a speech in favor of the im- 
peachment of Warren Hastings, Esq., late 
Governor General of Bengal, on account of 
his conduct toward the Begum Princesses of 
Oude. Only a resume of this great speech, 
which lasted five hours and forty minutes, 
can be produced here; but, as far as possible, 
we will give a faithful miniature of an un- 
equaled original.) 

After a short preamble, Sheridan continued 
by saying that the attention which Parlia- 
ment had paid to the affairs of India for many 
sessions past, the voluminous productions of 
their committees on that subject, the various 
proceedings in that House respecting it, their 
own strong and pointed resolutions, the re- 
peated recommendations of his Majesty, and 
their reiterated assurance of paying due re- 
gard to those recommendations, as well as 
various acts of the Legislature — were all of 
them undeniable proofs of the moment and 

87 



Sheridan. 

magnitude of the consideration and incon- 
trovertibly established this plain broad fact, 
that Parliament directly acknowledges that 
the British name and character had been dis- 
honored and rendered detestable throughout 
India by the malversation and crimes of the 
principal servant of the East India Company. 
The fact having been established beyond all 
Question by themselves, and by their own acts, 
there needed no argument on his part to in- 
duce the committee to see the importance of 
the subject about to be discussed upon that 
day, in a more striking point of view than they 
themselves had held it up to public observa- 
tion. 

There were, he knew, persons without doors 
who affected to ridicule the idea of prose- 
cuting Mr. Hastings, and who, not incon- 
sistently, redoubled their exertions in pro- 
portion as the prosecution became more seri- 
ous, to increase their sarcasms upon the sub- 
ject by asserting that Parliament might be 
more usefully employed, that there were mat- 
ters of more immediate moment to engage 
their attention, that a commercial treaty with 
France had just been concluded, and that it 
was of a vast and comprehensive nature, and 
of itself sufficient to engross their attention. 

To all this he would oppose these questions : 

' Was Parliament misspending its time by 

inquiring into the oppressions practised on 

millions of unfortunate persons in India, and 

88 



Speeches. 

endeavoring to bring the daring delinquent 
who had been guilty of the most flagrant acts 
of enormous tyranny and rapacious pecula- 
tion to exemplary and condign punishment? 
Was it a misuse of their functions to be dili- 
gent in attempting by the most effectual means 
to wipe off the disgrace affixed to the British 
name in India, and to rescue the national 
character from lasting infamy? Surely no 
man who felt for one or the other would 
think a business of greater moment or mag- 
nitude could occupy his attention ; or that the 
House could with too much steadiness, too 
ardent a zeal, or too industrious a persever- 
ance, pursue its object. 

Their conduct in this respect during the 
course of the preceding year had done them 
immortal honor, and proved to all the world 
that however degenerate an example of Eng- 
lishmen some of the British subjects had ex- 
hibited in India, the people of England, col- 
lectively speaking, and acting by their repre- 
sentatives, felt — as men should feel on such 
an occasion — that they were anxious to do 
justice by redressing injuries and punishing 
offenders, however high their rank, however 
elevated their station. 

Their indefatigable exertions in committees 
appointed to inquire concerning the affairs 
of India; their numerous elaborate and clear 
reports ; their long and interesting debates ; 
their solemn addresses to the throne; their 

89 



Sheridan. 

rigorous legislative acts ; their marked de- 
testation of that novel and base sophism in 
the principles of judicial inquiry (constantly 
the language of the Governor-General's ser- 
vile dependents); that crimes might be com- 
pounded, that the guilt of Mr. Hastings was 
to be balanced by his successes, that fortu- 
nate events were a full and complete set-off 
against a base system of oppression, corrup- 
tion, breach of faith, peculation and treach- 
ery; and finally their solemn and awful 
judgment that, in the case of Benares, Mr. 
Hastings' conduct was a proper object of 
parliamentary impeachment, had covered 
them with applause, 'and brought them for- 
ward in the face of all the world as the 
objects of perpetual admiration. 

Animated with the same zeal, the commit- 
tee had by that memorable vote given a 
solemn pledge of their further intentions. 
They had said to India, "You shall no longer 
be reduced into temporary acquiescence by 
sending out a titled governor or a set of 
vaporing resolutions ; it is not with stars and 
ribands, and with all the badges of regal 
favor, that we atone to you for past delin- 
quencies. No ; you shall have the solid con- 
solation of seeing an end to your grievances 
by an example of punishment for tfiose that 
have already taken place." 

The House had set up a beacon which, while 
it served to guide their own way, would also 

90 



Speeches. 

make their motions conspicuous to the world 
which surrounded and beheld them. He had 
no doubt but in their manly determination 
they would go through the whole of the busi- 
ness with the same steadiness which gave such 
sterling brilliance of character to their outset. 
They might challenge the world to observe 
and judge of them by the result. 

Impossible was it for such men to become 
improperly influenced by a paper bearing the 
signature of "Warren Hastings," and put not 
many minutes before into their hands, as well 
as his own, on their entrance into the House. 
This insidious paper he felt himself at liberty 
to consider as a second defence and a second 
answer to the charge he was about to bring 
forward — a charge replete with proof of 
criminality of the blackest dye, of tyranny the 
most vile and premeditated, of corruption the 
most open and shameless, of oppression the 
most severe and grinding, of cruelty the most 
unmanly and unparalleled. But he was far 
from meaning to rest the charge on assertion, 
or on any warm expressions which the im- 
pulse of wounded feelings might produce. He 
would establish every part of the charge b 
the most unanswerable proof, and the most un- 
questionable evidence; and the witness he 
would bring forth to support every fact he 
would state should be, for the most part, one 
whom no man would venture to contradict, 
Warren Hastings himself; yet this character 

91 



Sheridan. 

had friends, nor were they blamable. They 
might believe him guiltless because he as- 
serted his integrity. Even the partial warmth 
of friendship, and the emotions of a good, 
admiring, and unsuspecting heart, might not 
only carry them to such lengths, but incite them 
to rise with an intrepid confidence in his vindi- 
cation. Again would he repeat that the vote 
of the last session, wherein the conduct of 
this pillar of India, this corner-stone of our 
strength in the East, this talisman of the 
British territories in Asia was censured, did 
the greatest honor to this House, as it must 
be the forerunner of speedy justice on that 
character, which was said to be above cen- 
sure, and whose conduct we were given to 
understand was not within the reach even of 
suspicion, but whose deeds were indeed such 
as no difficulties, no necessity could justify; 
for where is the situation, however elevated, 
and in that elevation however embarrassed, 
that can authorize the wilful commission of 
oppression and rapacity? If, at any period, 
a point arose on which inquiry had been full, 
deliberate, and dispassionate, it was the pres- 
ent. There were questions on which party 
conviction was supposed to be a matter of easy 
acquisition ; and if this inquiry were to be 
considered merely as a matter of party, he 
should regard it as very trifling indeed ; but 
he professed to God that he felt in his own 
bosom the strongest personal conviction, and 

92 



Speeches. 

he was sensible that many other gentlemen 
did the same. It was on that conviction that 
he believed the conduct of Mr. Hastings, in 
regard to the Xabob of Oude and the Begums, 
comprehended every species of human offence. 
He had proved himself guilty of rapacity at 
once violent and insatiable — of treachery cool 
and premeditated — of oppression useless and 
unprovoked — of breach of faith unwarrant- 
able and base — of cruelty unmanly and un- 
merciful. These were the crimes of which, 
in his soul and conscience, he arraigned War- 
len Hastings, and of which he had the con- 
fidence to say he should convict him. As 
there were gentlemen ready to stand up his 
advocates, he challenged them to watch if he 
advanced one inch of assertion for which 
he had not solid ground ; for he trusted noth- 
ing to declamation. He desired credit for 
no fact which he did not prove, and which he 
did not indeed demonstrate beyond the possi- 
bility of refutation. He should not desert 
the clear and invincible ground of truth 
throughout any one particle of his allegations 
against Mr. Hastings, who uniformly aimed 
to govern India by his own arbitrary power, 
covering with misery upon misery a wretched 
people whom Providence had subjected to the 
dominion of this country ; while in the defence 
of Mr. Hastings, not one single circumstance 
grounded upon truth was stated. He would 
repeat the words, and gentlemen might take 

93 



Sheridanio 

them down. The attempt at vindication was 
false throughout. 

Sheridan, now pursuing the examination of 
Mr. Hastings' defence, observed that there 
could not exist a single plea for maintaining 
that that defence against the particular charge 
now before the committee was hasty ; Mr. 
Hastings had had sufficient time to make it 
up; and the committee saw that he thought 
fit to go back as far as the year 1775, for 
pretended ground of justification from the 
charge of violence and rapacity. Sheridan 
here read a variety of extracts from the de- 
fence, which stated the various steps taken 
by Mr. Bristow in 1775 and 1776, to procure 
from the Begums aid to the Nabob. Not 
one of these facts, as stated by Mr. Hastings, 
was true ; groundless, nugatory and insulting 
were the affirmations of Mr. Hastings, that 
the seizure of treasures from the Begums, and 
the exposition of their pilfered goods to public 
auction (unparalleled acts of open injustice, 
oppression, and inhumanity!), were in any de- 
gree to be defended by those encroachments 
on their property which had taken place 
previous to his administration, or by those 
sales which they themselves had solicited as 
a favorable mode of supplying a part of their 
aid to the Nabob. The relation of a series 
of plain, indisputable facts would irrevocably 
overthrow a subterfuge so pitiful, a distinction 
so ridiculous. It must be remembered, that 

94 



Speeches. 

at that period, the Begums did not merely 
desire, but they most expressly stipulated, that 
of the thirty lacs promised, eleven should be 
paid in sundry articles of manufacture. Was 
it not obvious, therefore, that the sale of 
goods, in the first place, far from partaking 
of the nature of an act of plunder, became 
an extension of relief, of indulgence, and of 
accommodation ? But, however, he would not 
be content, like Mr. Hastings, with barely 
making assertions, or when made against his 
statement, with barely denying them ; an the 
contrary, whenever he objected to a single 
statement, he would bring his refutation, and 
almost in every instance Mr. Hastings himself 
should be his witness. 

Then Mr. Sheridan from a variety of docu- 
ments, chiefly from the minutes of the Su- 
preme Council, of which Mr. Hastings had 
been the president, explained the true state of 
that question. Treasure, which was the 
source of all cruelties, was the original pre- 
tence which Mr. Hastings had made to the 
Company for the proceeding, and through the 
whole of his conduct he had alleged the prin- 
ciples of Mahometanism in mitigation of the 
severities he had sanctioned ; as if he meant 
to insinuate that there was something in 
Mahometanism which rendered it impious in 
a son not to plunder his mother. 

Sheridan, in a regular progression of evi- 
dence, proceeded to state the successive peri- 

95 



Sheridan. 

ods, and finally to bring down the immediate 
subject in question to the day on which Mi- 
Hastings embraced the project of plundering 
the Begums; and to justify which he had ex- 
hibited in his defence tour charges against 
them, as the grounds and motives of his own 
conduct: "i. That they had given disturbance 
at all times to the government of the Nabob, 
and that they had long manifested a spirit hos- 
tile to his and to the English Government; 
2. That they excited the Zemindars to revolt 
at the time of the insurrection at Benares and 
of the resumption of the Jaghires ; 3. That 
they resisted by armed force the resumption 
of their own Jaghires; and 4. That they ex- 
cited and were accessory to the insurrection at 
Benares." To each of these charges Mr. 
Sheridan gave distinct and separate answers. 
First, on the subject of the imputed disturb- 
ances, which they were falsely said to have 
occasioned, he could produce a variety of ex- 
tracts, many of them written by Mr. Hastings 
himself, to prove that, on the contrary, they 
had particularly distinguished themselves by 
their friendship for the English, and the vari- 
ous good offices which they had rendered the 
Government. Mr. Hastings left Calcutta in 
1 78 1, and proceeded to Lucknow, as he said 
himself, with two great objects in his mind, 
namely, Benares and Oude. What was the 
nature of these boasted resources? That he 
should plunder one or both; the equitable al- 

96 



Speeches 

ternative of a highwayman, who in going 
forth in the evening hesitates which of his re- 
sources to prefer, Bagshot or Hounslow. In 
such a state of generous irresolution did Mr. 
Hastings proceed to Benares and Oude. At 
Benares he failed in his pecuniary object. 
Then, and not till then — not on account of any 
ancient enmities shown by the Begums — not 
in resentment for any old disturbances, but 
because he had failed in one place, and had 
but two in his prospect, did he conceive the 
base expedient of plundering these aged wo- 
men. He had no pretence — he had no excuse 
— he had nothing but the arrogant and ob- 
stinate determination to govern India by his 
own corrupt will to plead for his conduct. In- 
flamed by disappointment in his first project, 
he hastened to the fortress of Chunar, to medi- 
tate the more atrocious design of instigating a 
son against his mother, of sacrificing female 
dignity and distress to parricide and plunder. 
At Chunar was that infamous treaty con- 
certed with the Nabob Vizier to despoil the 
princesses of Oude of their hereditary posses- 
sions. There it was that Mr. Hastings had 
stipulated with one whom he called an inde- 
pendent prince, "that, as great distress has 
arisen to the Nabob's government from the 
military power and dominion assumed by the 
Jaghiredars, he be permitted to resume such 
as he may find necessary; with a reserve that 
all such for the amount of whose Jaghires the 

97 



Sheridan. 

Company are guarantees shall, in case of the 
resumptions of their lands, be paid the amount 
of their net collections, through the resident, 
in ready money; and that no English resident 
be appointed to Furruckabad." 

No sooner was this foundation of iniquity 
thus instantly established, in violation of the 
pledged faith and solemn guarantee of the 
British Government; no sooner had Mr. Hast- 
ings determined to invade the substance of 
justice, than he resolved to avail himself of 
her judicial forms, and accordingly dispatched 
a messenger for the Chief Justice of India, to 
assist him in perpetrating the violations he had 
projected. Sir Elijah Impey being arrived, 
Mr. Hastings with much art proposed a ques- 
tion of opinion, involving an unsubstantiated 
fact, in order to obtain a surreptitious appro- 
bation of the measure he had predetermined to 
adopt: "The Begums being in open revolt, 
might not the Nabob confiscate their prop- 
erty?" "Most undoubtedly," was the ready 
answer of the friendly judge. Not a sylla- 
ble of inquiry intervened as to the existence 
of the imputed rebellion, nor a moment's pause 
as to the ill purposes to which the decision of 
a chief justice might be perverted. 

Thus, while the executive power in India 
was perverted to the most disgraceful inhu- 
manities, the judicial authority also became its 
close and confidential associate — at the same 
moment that the sword of government was 

98 



Speeches. 

turned to an assassin's dagger, the pure ermine 
of justice was stained and soiled with the 
basest and meanest contamination. 

Under such circumstances did Mr. Hastings 
complete the treaty of Chunar — a treaty which 
might challenge all the treaties that ever sub- 
sisted, for containing in the smallest compass 
the most extensive treachery. Mr. Hastings 
did not conclude that treaty till he had re- 
ceived from the Nabob a present, or rather a 
bribe, of £100,000. The circumstances of this 
present were as extraordinary as the thing it- 
self. Four months afterwards, and not till 
then, Mr. Hastings communicated the matter 
to the Company. Unfortunately for himself, 
however, this tardy disclosure was conveyed 
in words which betray his original meaning; 
for, with no common incaution, he admits the 
present "was oi a magnitude not to be con- 
cealed." 

Sheridan stated all the circumstances of this 
bribe, and averred that the whole had its rise 
in a principle of rank corruption. For whcft 
was the consideration of this extraordinary 
bribe? No less than the withdrawing from 
Oude, not only of all the English gentlemen in 
official situations, but the whole of the English 
army; and that, too, at the very moment when 
he himself had stated the whole country of 
Oude to be in open revolt and rebellion. Other 
very strange articles were contained in the 
same treaty, which nothing but this infamous 

LcfC. 99 



Sheridan. 

bribe could have occasioned, together with the 
reverse which he had in his own mind of 
treachery to the Nabob; for the only part of 
the treaty which he ever attempted to carry 
into execution was to withdraw the English 
gentlemen from Oude. The Nabob, indeed, 
considered this as essential to his deliverance, 
and his observation on the circumstance was 
curious — "for though Major Palmer," said he, 
"has not yet asked anything, I observe it is the 
custom of the English gentlemen constantly to 
ask for something from me before they gOo" 
This imputation on the English Air. Hastings 
was most ready to countenance as a screen for 
his own abandoned profligacy; and, therefore, 
at the very moment that he pocketed the ex- 
torted spoils of the Nabob, with his usual grave 
hypocrisy and cant, "Go," he said to the Eng- 
lish gentlemen, "go, you oppressive rascals, go 
from this worthy unhappy man whom you 
have plundered, and leave him to my protec- 
tion. You have robbed him, you have plun- 
dered him, you have taken advantage of his 
accumulated distresses ; but, please God, he 
shall in future be at rest, for I have promised 
him he shall never see the face of an English- 
man again." This, however, was the only part of 
the treaty which he ever affected to fulfil ; and, 
in all its other parts, we learn from himself, 
that at the very moment he made it, he in- 
tended to deceive the Nabob ; and, accordingly, 
he advised general instead of partial resump- 

100 



Speeches. 

tion, for the express purpose of defeating the 
first views of the Nabob, and, instead of giving 
instant and unqualified assent to all the articles 
of the treaty, he perpetually qualified, ex- 
plained, and varied them with new diminu- 
tions and reservations. Sheridan called upon 
gentlemen to say, if there is any theory in 
Machiavel, any treachery upon record, that 
could equal this monstrous iniquity, if they had 
ever heard of any cold Italian fraud which 
could in any degree be put in comparison with 
the disgusting hypocrisy and unequalled base- 
ness which Mr. Hastings had shown on that 
occasion. 

After having stated this complicated in- 
famy in terms of the severest reprehension, 
Sheridan proceeded to observe, that he recol- 
lected to have heard it advanced by some of 
those admirers of Mr. Hastings, who were not 
so implicit as to give unqualified applause to 
his crimes ; that they found an apology for the 
atrocity of them in the greatness of his mind. 
To estimate the solidity of such a defence, it 
would be sufficient merely to consider in what 
consisted this prepossessing distinction, this 
captivating characteristic of greatness of 
mind ! Is it not solely to be traced in great 
actions directed to great ends? In them, and 
them alone, we are to search for true mag- 
nanimity; to them only can we justly affix the 
splendid title and honors of real greatness. 
There was, indeed, another species of great- 

101 



Sheridan. 

ness, which displayed itself in boldly conceiv- 
ing a bad measure, and undauntedly pursuing 
it to its accomplishment. But had Mr. Hast- 
ings the merit of exhibiting either of these de- 
scriptions of greatness, even of the latter? He 
saw nothing great, nothing magnanimous, 
nothing open, nothing direct in his measures, 
or in his mind. On the contrary, he had too 
often pursued the worst objects by the worst 
means. His course was an eternal deviation 
from rectitude. He either tyrannized or de- 
ceived, and was by turns a Dionysius and a 
Scapin. As well might the writhing obli- 
quity of the serpent be compared to the swift 
directness of the arrow, as the duplicity of Mr. 
Hastings' ambition to the simple steadiness of 
true magnanimity. In his mind all was shuf- 
fling, ambiguous, dark, insidious and little; 
nothing simple, nothing unmixed; all affected 
plainness, and actual dissimulation. A hetero- 
geneous mass of contradictory qualities ; with 
nothing great but his crimes ; and even those 
contrasted by the littleness of his motives, 
which at once denoted both his baseness and 
his meanness, and marked him for a traitor and 
a trickster: nay, in his style and writing, there 
was the same mixture of vicious contrarieties. 
The most grovelling ideas he conveyed in the 
most inflated language, giving mock conse- 
quence to low cavils, and uttering quibbles in 
heroics ; so that his compositions disgusted the 
mind's taste as much as his actions excited the 

102 



Speeches. 

soul's abhorrence. Indeed, this mixture of 
character seemed by some unaccountable, but 
inherent quality, to be appropriated, though in 
inferior degrees, to everything that concerned 
his employers. He remembered to have heard 
an honorable gentleman (Mr. Dundas) re- 
mark, that there was something in the first 
frame and constitution of the Company, which 
extended the sordid principles of their origin 
over all their successive operations, connect- 
ing with their civil policy, and even with their 
boldest achievements, the meanness of a pedlar 
and the profligacy of pirates. Alike in the 
political and military line could be observed 
auctioneering ambassadors and trading gen- 
erals : and thus we saw a revolution brought 
about by affidavits ! an army employed in exe- 
cuting an arrest ! a town besieged on a note 
of hand ! a prince dethroned for the balance of 
an account ! Thus it was they exhibited a 
government, which united the mock majesty of 
a bloody sceptre and the little traffic of a mer- 
chant's counting-house— wielding a truncheon 
with one hand, and picking a pocket with the 
other. 

Having painted the loose quality of the 
affidavits, which had been offered to excuse 
Mr. Hastings, on the ground of the treachery 
and cruelty of the Begums, Sheridan 
said that he must pause a moment, 
and particularly address himself to one 
description of gentlemen — those of the 

103 



Sheridan. 

Earned profession — within those walls. 
They saw that that House was the path to 
fortune in their profession — that they might 
soon expect that some of theni were to be 
called to a dignified situation, where the great 
and important trust would be reposed in them 
of protecting the lives and fortunes of their 
fellow subjects. One learned gentleman in 
particular (Sir Lloyd Kenyon), if rumor 
spoke right, might suddenly be called to suc- 
ceed that great and venerable character who 
long had shone the brightest luminary of his 
profession, whose pure and steady light was 
clear even to its latest moment, but whose last 
beam must now too soon be extinguished. He 
would ask the supposed successor of Lord 
Mansfield calmly to reflect on these extraordi- 
nary depositions, and solemnly to declare 
whether the mass of affidavits taken at Luck- 
now would be received by him as evidence to 
convict the lowest subject in this country. If 
he said it would, he declared to God he would 
sit down, and not add a syllable more to the 
too long trespass he had made on the patience 
of the committee. 

Sheridan went further into the exposure 
of the evidence, into the comparison of dates, 
and the subsequent circumstances, in order to 
prove that all the enormous consequences 
which followed from the resumption, in the 
captivity of the women, and the imprisonment 

104 



Speeches. 

and cruelties practised on their people, were 
solely to be imputed to Mr. Hastings. 

Sheridan said he trusted that the House 
would vindicate the insulted character of jus- 
tice; that they would demonstrate its true 
quality, essence, and purposes — that they would 
prove it to be, in the case of Mr. Hastings, ac- 
tive, inquisitive and avenging. 

Sheridan remarked that he had heard of 
factions and parties in that House, and knew 
they existed. There was scarcely a subject 
upon which they were not broken and divided 
into sects. The prerogative of the Crown 
found its advocates among the representatives 
of the people. The privileges of the people 
found opponents even in the House of Com- 
mons itself. Habits, connections, parties, all 
led to diversity of opinion. But when inhu- 
manity presented itself to their observation, it 
found no division among them; they attacked 
it as their common enemy, and, as if the char- 
acter of this land was involved in their zeal 
for its ruin, they left it not till it was com- 
pletely overthrown. It was not given to that 
House to behold the objects of their compas- 
sion and benevolence in the present extensive 
consideration, as it was to the officers who re- 
lieved and who so feelingly describe the ecsta- 
tic emotions of gratitude in the instant of de- 
liverance ; they could not behold the workings 
of the hearts, the quivering lips, the trickling 
tears, the loud and yet tremulous joy of the 

105 



Sheridan. 

millions whom their vote of this night would 
for ever save from the cruelty of corrupted 
power; but, though they could not directly see 
the effect, was not the true enjoyment of their 
benevolence increased by the blessing being 
conferred unseen? Would not the omnipo- 
tence of Britain be demonstrated to the wonder 
of nations, by stretching its mighty arm across 
the deep, and saving by its fiat distant millions 
from destruction ? And would the blessings 
of the people thus saved dissipate in empty 
air? "No! If I may dare" (said Sheridan) 
"to use the figure, we shall constitute Heaven 
itself our proxy, to receive for us the blessings 
of their pious gratitude and the prayers of 
their thanksgiving. It is with confidence, 
therefore, sir, that I move you on this charge 
—that Warren Hastings, Esq., be impeached." 



106 



THE BEGUM SPEECH. 

(This was the popular title given to the 
speech to support the impeachment of Warren 
Hastings, Esq., on the second charge with re- 
gard to his conduct toward the Begum prin- 
cesses of Oude. This speech occupied nearly 
three days. It would be impossible of course, 
to give the whole of it, bat some of the most 
remarkable passages have been selected.) 

In the course of his exordium, after insist- 
ing upon^the great importance of the inquiry, 
and disclaiming on behalf of himself and his 
brother-managers any feeling of personal mal- 
ice against the defendant, or any motive but 
that of vindicating the honor of the British 
name in India, and punishing those whose in- 
humanity and injustice had disgraced it, Sheri- 
dan proceeded to conciliate the court by a 
warm tribute to the purity of English justice. 

"However, when I have said this, I trust 
your lordships will not believe that, because 
something is necessary to retrieve the British 
character, we call for an example to be made, 
without due and solid proof of the guilt of 
the person whom we pursue : no, my lords, we 

107 



Sheridan. 

know well that it is the glory of this Consti- 
tution, that not the general fame or character 
of any man — not the weight or power of any 
prosecutor — no plea of moral or political ex- 
pediency — not even the secret consciousness of 
guilt, which may live in the bosom of the 
judge, can justify any British court in passing 
any sentence, to touch a hair of the head, or 
an atom, in any respect, of the property, of 
the fame, of the liberty of the poorest or mean- 
est subject that breathes the air of this just 
and free land. We know, my lords, that there 
can be no legal guilt without legal proof, and 
that the rule which defines the evidence is as 
much the law of the land as that which creates 
the crime. It is upon that ground we mean to 
stand." 

Sheridan thus described the feelings of the 
people of the East with respect to the unap- 
proachable sanctity of their Zenanas : — 

"It is too much, I am afraid, the case, that 
persons used to European manners' do not take 
up these sort of considerations at first with 
the seriousness that is necessary. For your 
lordships cannot even learn the right nature 
of those people's feelings and prejudices from 
any history of other Mahometan countries, not 
even from that of the Turks, for they are a 
mean and degraded race in comparison with 
many of these great families, who, inheriting 
from their Persian ancestors, preserve a purer 
style of prejudice and a loftier superstition. 

108 



Speeches. 

Women are not as in Turkey, they neither go 
to the mosque nor to the bath — it is not the thin 
veil alone that hides them — but in the inmost 
recesses of their zenana they are kept from 
public view by those reverenced and protected 
walls, which, as Mr. Hastings and Sir Elijah 
Impey admit, are held sacred even by the 
ruffian hand of war, or by the more uncour- 
teous hand of law. But in this situation, they 
are not confined from a mean and selfish policy 
of man — not from a coarse and sensual jeal- 
ousy — enshrined rather than immured, their 
habitation and retreat is a sanctuary, not a 
prison — their jealousy is their own — a jealousy 
of their own honor, that leads them to regard 
liberty as a degradation, and the gaze of even 
admiring eyes as inexpiable pollution to the 
purity of their fame and the sanctity of their 
honor. 

"Such being the general opinion (or preju- 
dices let them be called) of this country, your 
lordships will find that whatever treasures 
were given or lodged in a zenana of this de- 
scription must, upon the evidence of the thing 
itself, be placed beyond the reach of resump- 
tion. To dispute with the counsel'^bout the 
original right to those treasures, to^talk of a 
title to them by the Mahometan law ! their title 
to them is the title of a saint to the relics upon 
an altar, placed their by Piety, guarded by 
holy supersitition, and to be snatched from 
thence only by sacrilege." 

109 



Sheridan. 

With regard to the pretended rebellion, 
which was conjured up by Mr. Hastings to 
justify the robbery of his relations by the 
Nabob, he said : 

"The fact is, that through all his defences — 
through all his various false suggestions — 
through all these various rebellions and dis- 
affections, Mr. Hastings never once lets go this 
plea of unextinguishable right in the Nabob. 
He constantly represents the seizing of the 
treasure as a resumption of a right which he 
could not part with; as if there were literally 
something in the Koran that made it criminal 
in a true Mussulman to keep his engagements 
with his relations, and impious in a son to ab- 
stain from plundering a mother. I do gravely 
assure your lordships that there is no such 
doctrine in the Koran, and no such principle 
makes a part in the civil or municipal jurispru- 
dence of that country. Even after these prin- 
cesses had been endeavoring to dethrone the 
Nabob and to extirpate the English, the only 
plea the Nabob ever makes, is his right under 
the Mahometan law ; and the truth is, he ap- 
pears never to have heard any other reason, 
and I pledge myself to make it appear to your 
lordships, however extraordinary it may be that 
not only had the Nabob never heard of the 
rebellion till the moment of seizing the palace, 
but, still further, that he never heard of it at 
all; that this extraordinary rebellion, which 
was as notorious as the rebellion of 1745 in 

110 



Speeches. 

London, was carefully concealed from those 
two parties — the Begums who plotted it, and 
the Nabob who was to be the victim of it. 

"The existence of this rebellion was not the 
secret, but the notoriety of it was the secret; 
it was a rebellion which had for its object the 
destruction of no human creature but those 
who planned it; it was a rebellion which, ac- 
cording to Mr. Middleton's expression, no 
man, either horse or foot, ever marched to 
quell. The Chief Justice was the only man 
who took the field against it, the force 
against which it was raised, instantly with- 
drew to give it elbow-room ; and even then it 
was a rebellion which perversely showed itself 
in acts of hospitality to the Nabob whom it 
was to dethrone, and to the English whom it 
was to extirpate; it was a rebellion plotted by 
two feeble old women, headed by two eunuchs, 
and suppressed by an affidavit." 

The conduct of Sir Elijah Impey, reference 
to whom has been made in the other speech 
against Warren Hastings, could not be al- 
lowed to pass without censure. On this 
subject, Sheridan said: "I will not ques- 
tion his feebleness of memory, nor dis- 
pute in any respect the doctrine he had 
set up, that which it was likely he should have 
done, he took for granted he had done — but 
conceding this, I must be permitted to suspect 
that what he should have done, he really had 
not done — and this I conceive to be perfectly 

111 



Sheridan. 

"air reasoning. It is not likely that he shouk 
propose to go to Fyzabad,- which was con- 
siderably out of his way, at the moment the 
rebellion was said to rage there. Sir Elijal 
has admitted that, in giving his evidence, he 
has never answered without looking equally 
to the probability and the consequences of the 
fact in question. Sometimes he has even ad- 
mitted circumstances of which he has no recol- 
lection, beyond the mere probability that they 
had taken place. By consulting what was 
probable and the contrary, he may certainly 
have corrected his memory at times, and I will 
accept that mode of giving testimony provided 
that the inverse of the proposition may have 
place ; and that where a circumstance is im- 
probable a similar degree of improbability may 
be subtracted from the testimony of the wit- 
ness. Five times in the House of Commons 
and twice in that court has Sir Elijah Impey 
sworn that a rebellion was raging at Fyzabad, 
at the time of his journey to Lucknow. Yet 
on the eighth examination he has contradicted 
all the former, and declared that what he 
meant was, that the rebellion had been raging 
and that the country was then restored to 
quiet. Thus he ignores the letter he received 
from Mr. Hastings informing him that the re- 
bellion was quelled, and, also, his own proposi- 
tion of traveling through Fyzabad to Luck- 
now." 

After pointing out the various methods by 
112 



Speeches. 

which it had been attempted, but in vain, to 
make the public believe in the fiction of a re- 
bellion, Sheridan then described the desola- 
tion brought upon some provinces of Oude by 
the misgovernment of Colonel Hannay, and 
the insurrection at Gurrackpore against him in 
consequence. 

"If we could suppose a person to have come 
suddenly into the country, unacquainted with 
any circumstances that had passed since the 
days of Sujah-ul-Dowlah, he would naturally 
ask — What cruel hand has wrought this wide 
desolation, what barbarian foe has invaded the 
country, has desolated its fields, depopulated 
its villages? He would ask, What disputed 
succession, civil rage, or frenzy of the inhabi- 
tants had induced them to act in hostility to 
the words of God, and the beauteous works of 
man? He would ask, What religious zeal or 
frenzy had added to the mad despair and 
horrors of war? The ruin is unlike anything 
that appears recorded in any age ; it looks like 
neither the barbarities of men, nor the judg- 
ments of vindictive Heaven. There is a waste 
of desolation, as if caused by fell destroyers, 
never meaning to return and making but a 
short period of their rapacity. It looks as if 
some fabled monster had made its passage 
through the country, whose pestiferous breath 
had blasted more than its voracious appetite 
could devour. 

"If there had been any men in the country, 

113 



Sheridan. 

who had not their hearts and souls so sub- 
dued by fear, as to refuse to speak the truth 
at all upon 'such a subject, they would have 
told him, there had been no war since the time 
of Sujah-Dowlah, — tyrant, indeed, as he was, 
but then deeply regretted by his subjects — that 
no hostile blow of any enemy had been struck 
in that land — that there had been no disputed 
succession — no civil war — no religious frenzy, 
— but that these were the tokens of British 
friendship, the marks left by the embraces of 
British allies — more dreadful than the blows 
of the bitterest enemy. They would tell him 
that these allies had converted a prince into a 
slave, to make him the principal in the ex- 
tortion upon his subjects; — that their rapacity 
increased in proportion as the means of supply- 
ing their avarice diminished ; that they made 
the sovereign pay as if they had a right to an 
increased price, because the labor of extortion 
and plunder increased. To such causes, they 
would tell him, these calamities were owing. 
"Need I refer your lordships to the strong 
testimony of Major Naylor when he rescued 
Colonel Hannay from their hands — where you 
see that this people, born to submission and 
bent to most abject subjection — that even they, 
in whose meek hearts injury had never yet be- 
got resentment, nor even despair bred courage 
— that their hatred, their abhorrence of Colo- 
nel Hannay was such that they clung round 
him by thousands and thousands ; — that when 

114 



Speeches. 

Major Naylor rescued him, they refused life 
from the hand that could rescue Hannay;-- 
that they nourished this desperate consolation, 
that by their death they should at least thin 
the number of wretches who suffered by his 
devastation and extortion. He says that, when 
he crossed the river, he found the poor 
wretches, quivering upon the parched banks of 
the polluted river, encouraging their blood to 
flow, and consoling themselves with the 
thought, that it would not sink into the earth, 
but rise to the common God of humanity, and 
cry aloud for vengeance on their destroyers ! 
This warm description — which is no declama- 
tion of mine, but founded in actual fact, and in 
fair, clear proof before your lordships — speaks 
powerfully what the cause of these oppressions 
were, and the perfect justness of those feelings 
that were occasioned by them. And yet/ my 
lords, I am asked to prove why these people 
arose in such concert : — 'There must have been 
machinations, forsooth, and the Begums' 
machinations to produce all this !' Why did 
they rise? Because they were people in hu- 
man shape ; because patience under the de- 
tested tyranny of man is rebellion to the sover- 
eignty of God ; because allegiance to that 
Power that gives us the forms of men com- 
mands us to maintain the rights of men. And 
never yet was this truth dismissed from the hu- 
man heart — never in any time, in any age — 
never in any clime, where rude man ever had 

115 



Sheridan. 

any social feeling, or where corrupt refinement 
had subdued all feelings, — never was this one 
unextinguishable truth destroyed from the 
heart of man, placed, as it is, in the core and 
centre of it by his Maker, that man was not 
made the property of man ; that human power 
is a trust for human benefit; and that when it 
is abused, revenge becomes justice, if not the 
bounden duty of the injured. These, my lords, 
were the causes why these people rose." 

Another passage is remarkable, as exhibit- 
ing a sort of tourney of intellect between 
Sheridan and Bourke. Mr. Bourke had, in 
opening the prosecution, remarked that pru- 
dence is a quality incompatible with vice, and 
can never be effectively enlisted in its cause : — 
"I never," he said, "knew a man who was bad, 
fit for service that was good. * There is always 
some disqualifying ingredient, mixing and 
spoiling the compound. The man seems 
paralytic on that side ; his muscles there have 
lost their very tone and character; they can- 
not move. In short, the accomplishment of 
anything good is a physical impossibility for 
such a man. There is decrepitude as well as 
distortion: he could not, if he would, is not 
more certain than that he would not, if he 
could." To this sentiment the allusions in the 
following passage refer : 

"I am perfectly convinced that there is one 
idea which must arise in your lordships' minds 
as a subject of wonder — how a person of Mr. 

116 



Speeches. 

Hastings' reputed abilities can furnish such 
matter of accusation against himself. For it 
must be admitted that never was there a per- 
son who seems to go so rashly to work, with 
such an arrogant appearance of contempt for 
all conclusions, that may be deduced from 
what he advances upon the subject. When he 
seems most earnest and laborious to defend 
himself, it appears as if he had but one idea 
uppermost in his mind — a determination not 
to care what he says, provided he keeps clear 
of that. He knows that truth must convict 
him, and concludes, a converso, that falsehood 
will acquit him ; forgetting that there must be 
some connection, some system, some "co-opera- 
tion, or otherwise his host of falsities fall 
without an enemy, self-discomfited and de- 
stroyed. But of this he never seems to have 
had the slightest apprehension. He falls to 
work, an artificer of fraud, against all the rules 
of architecture : he lays his ornamental work 
first, and his massy foundation at the top of 
it ; and thus his whole building tumbles upon 
his head. Other people look well to their 
ground, choose their position, and watch 
whether they are likely to be surprised there ; 
but he, as if in the ostentation of his heart, 
builds upon a precipice and encamps upon a 
mine from choice. He seems to have no one 
actuating principle, but a steady, persevering 
resolution not to speak the truth nor to tell 
the fact. 

117 



Sheridan. 

"It is impossible almost to treat conduct of 
this kind with perfect seriousness ; yet I am 
aware that it ought to be more seriously ac- 
counted for — because I am sure it has been a 
sort of paradox, which must have struck your 
lordships, how any person having so many 
motives to conceal — having so many reasons 
to dread detection— should yet go to work so 
clumsily upon the subject. It is possible, in- 
deed, that it may raise this doubt — whether 
such a person is of sound mind enough to be a 
proper object of punishment; or at least it may 
give a kind of confused notion, that the guilt 
cannot be of so deep and black a grain, over 
which such a thin veil was thrown, and so 
little trouble taken to avoid detection. I am 
aware that, to account for this seeming para- 
dox, historians, poets, and even philosophers — 
at least of ancient times— have adopted the 
superstitious solution of the vulgar, and said 
that the gods deprive men of reason whom 
they devote to destruction or to punishment. 
But to unassuming or unprejudiced reason, 
there is no need to resort to any supposed 
supernatural interference; for the solution 
will be found in the eternal rules that formed 
the mind of man, and gave a quality and na- 
ture to every passion that inhabits it. 

"An honorable friend of mine, who is now, 
1 believe, near me — a gentleman to whom I 
never can on any occasion refer without feel- 
ings of respect, and, on this subject, without 

118 



Speeches. 

feelings of the most grateful homage — a gen- 
tleman whose abilities upon this occasion, as 
upon some former ones, happily lor the glory 
of the age in which we live, are not entrusted 
merely to the perishable eloquence of the day, 
but will live to be the admiration of that hour 
when all of us are mute, and most of us for- 
gotten — that honorable gentleman has told you 
that prudence, the first of virtues, never can 
be used in the cause of vice. If, reluctant 
and diffident, I might take such a liberty, I 
should express a doubt whether experience, ob- 
servation, or history, will warrant us in fully 
assenting to this observation. It is a noble 
and a lovely sentiment, my lords, worthy the 
mind of him who uttered it, worthy that proud 
disdain, that generous scorn of the means and 
instruments of vice which virtue and genius 
must ever feel. But I should doubt whether 
we can read the history of a Philip of Mace- 
don, a Caesar, or a Cromwell, without confess- 
ing that there have been evil purposes, baneful 
to the peace and to the rights of men, 
conducted — if I may not say with pru- 
dence or with wisdom — yet with awful 
craft and most successful and com- 
manding subtlety. If, however, I might make 
a distinction, I should say that it is the proud 
attempt to mix a variety of lordly crimes, that 
unsettles the prudence of the mind, and breeds 
this distraction of the brain. One master- 
passion, domineering in the breast, may win 

119 



Sheridan. 

the faculties of the understanding to advance 
its purpose, and to direct to that object every- 
thing that thought or human knowledge can 
effect; but, to succeed, it must maintain a 
solitary despotism in the mind — each rival 
profligacy must stand aloof, or vi3.it in abject 
vassalage upon its throne. For the Power 
that has not forbade the entrance of 
evil passions into man's mind has, at 
least, forbade their union ; if they meet 
they defeat their object, and their con- 
quest, or their attempts at it, is tumult. Turn 
to the virtues — how different the decree ! 
Formed to connect, to blend, to associate, and 
to co-operate ; bearing the same course, with 
kindred energies and harmonious sympathy, 
each perfect in its own lovely sphere, each 
moving in its wider or more contracted orbit, 
with different but concentreing powers, guided 
by the same influence of reason, and endeavor- 
ing at the same blessed end — the happiness of 
the individual, the harmony of the species, and 
the glory of the Creator. In the vices, on the 
other hand, it is the discord that insures the 
defeat: each clamors to be heard in its own 
barbarous language ; each claims the exclusive 
cunning of the brain ; each thwarts and re- 
proaches the other ; and even while their fell 
rage assails with common hate the peace and 
virtue of the world, the civil war among their 
own tumultuous legions defeats the purpose of 
the foul conspiracy. These are the Furies of 

120 



Speeches. 

the mind, my lords, that unsettle the under- 
standing; these are the Furies that destroy 
the virtue, Prudence; while the distracted 
brain and shivered intellect proclaim the tu- 
mult that is within, and bear their testimonies 
from the mouth of God Himself to the foul 
condition of the heart." 

The two following passages should certainly 
be quoted. Having censured Hastings for 
having forced the Nabob to plunder his own 
relatives and friends, Sheridan said : 

"I do say, that if you search the history of 
the world, you will not find an act of tyranny 
and fraud to surpass this ; if you read all past 
histories, peruse the Annals of Tacitus, read 
the luminous page of Gibbon, and all the an- 
cient or modern writers, that have searched 
into the depravity of former ages to draw a 
lesson for the present, you will not find an act 
of treacherous, deliberate, cool cruelty that 
could exceed this." 

On being asked by some honest brother 
Whig, at the conclusion of the speech, how he 
came to compliment Gibbon with the epithet 
"luminous," Sheridan answered, in a half- 
whisper, "I said Voluminous/ " 

Again he said : 

"This is the character of all the protection 
ever afforded to the allies of Britain under the 
government of Mr. Hastings. They send their 
troops to drain the produce of industry, to 
seize all the treasures, wealth, and prosperity 

121 



Sheridan. 

of the country, and then they call it Protec- 
tion ! — it is the protection of the vulture to the 
lamb." 

The following is his celebrated delineation 
of filial affection, which is better known per- 
haps than any other part of this speech : 

'•'When I see in many of these letters the in- 
firmities of age made a subject of mockery and 
ridicule ; when I see the feelings of a son 
treated by Mr. Middleton as puerile and con- 
temptible ; when I see an order given from 
Mr. Hastings to harden that son's heart, to 
choke the struggling nature in his bosom ; 
when I see them pointing to the son's name 
and to his standard, while marching to oppress 
the mother, as to a banner that gives dignity, 
that gives a holy sanction and a reverence to 
their enterprise ; when I see and hear these 
things done — when I hear them brought into 
three deliberate Defences set up against the 
Charges of the Commons — my lords, I own I 
grow puzzled and confounded, and almost be- 
gin to doubt, whether, where such a defence 
can be offered, it may not be tolerated. 

"And yet, my lords, how can I support the 
claim of filial love by argument — much less the 
affection of a son to a mother — where love 
loses its awe, and veneration is mixed with 
tenderness ? What can I say upon such a sub- 
ject? what can I do but repeat the ready 
truths which, with the quick impulse of the 
mind, must spring to the lips of every man on 

122 



Speeches. 

such a theme ? Filial Love ! the morality of 
instinct, the sacrament of nature and duty — or 
rather let me say, it is miscalled a duty, for it 
flows from the heart without effort, and is its 
delight, its indulgence, its enjoyment. It is 
guided, not by the slow dictates of reason; it 
awaits not encouragement from reflection, or 
from thought; it asks no aid of memory; it is 
an innate, but active, consciousness of having 
been the object of a thousand tender solici- 
tudes, a thousand waking watchful cares, of 
meek anxiety and patient sacrifices, unre- 
marked and unrequited by the object. It is a 
gratitude founded upon a conviction of ob- 
ligations, not remembered, but the more bind- 
ing because not remembered — because con- 
ferred before the tender reason could acknowl- 
edge, or the infant memory record, them — a 
gratitude and affection, which no circum- 
stances should subdue, and which few can 
strengthen; a gratitude, in which even injury 
from the object, though it may blend regret, 
should never breed resentment; an affection 
which can be increased only by the decay of 
those to whom we owe it, and which is then 
most fervent when the tremulous voice of age, 
resistless in its feebleness, inquires for the 
natural protector of its cold decline. 

"If these are the general sentiments of man, 
what must be their depravity, what must be 
their degeneracy, who can blot out and 
erase from the bosom the virtue that is 

123 



Sheridan. 

deepest rooted in the human heart, and 
twined within the cords of life itself — aliens 
from nature, apostates from humanity ! And 
yet, if there is a crime more fell, more foul — 
if there is anything worse than a wilful per- 
secutor of his mother — it is to see a deliberate, 
reasoning instigator and abettor to the deed : — 
this it is that shocks, disgusts, ana appals the 
mind more than the other — to view, not a wil- 
ful parricide, but a parricide by compulsion, a 
miserable wretch, not actuated by the stub- 
born evils of his own worthless heart, not 
driven by the fury of his own distracted brain, 
but lending his sacrilegious hand, without any 
malice of his own, to answer the abandoned 
purposes of the human fiends that have sub- 
dued his will ! To condemn crimes like these, 
we need not talk of laws or of human rules — 
their foulness, their deformity, does not de- 
pend upon local constitutions, upon human in- 
stitutes or religious creeds : — they are crimes — 
and the persons who perpetrate them are mon- 
sters who violate the primitive condition, upon 
which the earth was given to man, — they are 
guilty by the general verdict of human kind." 

The following is a good example of Sheri- 
dan's command of the language of crimina- 
tion : 

"It is this circumstance of deliberation and 
consciousness of his guilt — it is this that in- 
flames the minds of those who watch his 
transactions, and roots out all pity for a per- 

124 



Speeches. 

son who could act under such an influence. 
We conceive of such tyrants as Caligula and 
Nero, bred up to tyranny and oppression, hav- 
ing had no equals to control them — no moment 
for reflection — we conceive that, if it could 
have been possible co seize the guilty profli- 
gates for a moment, you might bring conviction 
to their hearts and repentance to their minds. 
But when you see a cool, reasoning, deliberate 
tyrant — one who was not born and bred to 
arrogance, — who has been nursed in a mer- 
cantile line — who has been used to look round 
among his fellow-subjects — to transact busi- 
ness with his equals — to account for conduct 
to his master, and, by that wise system of the 
Company, to detail all his transactions — who 
never could fly one moment from himself, but 
must be obliged every night to sit down and 
hold up a glass to his own soul — who could 
never be blind to his deformity, and who must 
have brought his conscience not only to con- 
nive at but to approve of it — this it is that dis- 
tinguishes it from the worst cruelties, the 
worst enormities of those who, born to tyranny, 
and finding no superior, no adviser, have gone 
to the last presumption that there were none 
above to control them hereafter. This is a 
circumstance that aggravates the whole of the 
guilt of the unfortunate gentleman we are now 
arraigning at your bar." 

The peroration, a masterpiece of clever 
rhetoric and skillful pleading, is as follows : 

125 



Sheridan. 

"And now before I come to the last mag- 
nificent paragraph, let me call the attention of 
those who, possibly, think themselves capable 
of judging of the dignity and character of 
justice in this country; let me call the atten- 
tion of those who, arrogantly perhaps, pre- 
sume that they understand what the features, 
what the duties of justice are here and in 
India ; — : let them learn a lesson from this great 
statesman, this enlarged, this liberal philoso- 
pher : — 'I hope I shall not depart from the 
simplicity of official language in saying, that 
the majesty of Justice ought to be approached 
with solicitation, not descend to provoke or in- 
vite it, much less to debase itself by the sug- 
gestion of wrongs and the promise of redress, 
with the denunciation of punishment before 
trial, and even before accusation.' 

"This is the exhortation which Mr. Hastings 
makes to his counsel. This is the character 
which he gives of British justice. 

"But I will ask your lordships, do you ap- 
prove this representation ? Do you feel that 
this is the true image of Justice? Is this the 
character of British Justice? Are these her 
features? Is this her countenance? Is this 
her gait or her mien ? No, I think even now I 
hear you calling upon me to turn from this 
vile libel, this base caricature, this Indian 
pagod, formed by the hand of guilty and 
knavish tyranny, to dupe the heart of ignor- 
ance, — to turn from this deformed idol to the 

126 



Speeches, 

true majesty of Justice here Here, indeed, I 
see a different form, enthroned by the sover- 
eign hand of Freedom, — awful without sever- 
ity — commanding without pride — vigilant and 
active without restlessness or suspicion — 
searching and inquisitive without meanness or 
debasement — not arrogantly scorning to stoop 
to the voice of afflicted innocence, and in its 
loveliest attitude when bending to uplift the 
suppliant at its feet, 

"It is by the majesty, by the form of that 
Justice, that I do conjure and implore your 
lordships to give your minds to this great busi- 
ness ; that I exhort you to look, not so much 
to words which may be denied or quibbled 
away, but to the plain facts, — to weigh and 
consider the testimony in your own minds : 
we know .the result must be inevitable. Let 
the truth appear and our cause is gained. It 
is this, I conjure your lordships, for your own 
honor, for the honor of the nation, for the 
honor of human nature, now entrusted to your 
care, — it is this duty that the Commons of 
England, speaking through us, claim at your 
hands. 

'They exhort you to it by everything that 
calls sublimely upon the heart of man, by the 
majesty of that Justice which this bold man 
has libelled, by the wide fame of your own tri- 
bunal, by the sacred pledge by which you 
swear in the solemn hour of decision, knowing 
that that decision will then bring you the high- 

127 



Sheridan. 

est reward that ever blessed the heart of man, 
the consciousness of having done the greatest 
act of mercy for the world, that the earth has 
ever yet received from any hand but Heavem 
My lords, I have *done." 



128 



A REPLY TO BURKE. 

(The following is an extract from one of 
Sheridan's answers to Burke, who had as- 
serted that the French Republicans were given 
over to Deism and Atheism.) 

"As an argument to the feelings and passions 
of men, the honorable member had great ad- 
vantages in dwelling on this topic ; because it 
was a subject which those who disliked every- 
thing that had the air of cant and profession 
on the one hand, or of indifference on the 
other, found it awkward to meddle with. Es- 
tablishments, tests, and matters of that nature, 
were proper objects of political discussion in 
that House, but not general charges of Athe- 
ism and Deism, as pressed upon their consid- 
eration by the honorable gentleman. Thus 
far, however, he would say, and it was an 
opinion he had never changed or concealed, 
that, although no man can command his con- 
viction, he had ever considered a deliberate 
disposition to make proselytes in infidelity as 
an unaccountable depravity. Whoever at- 
tempted to pluck the belief or the prejudice on 
this subject, style it which he would, from the 
bosom of one man, woman, or child, com- 
mitted a brutal outrage, the motive for which 
he had never been able to trace or conceive/' 

129 



ON THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 

(This is a selection from Sheridan's speech 
on the army estimates, the speech which 
caused the breach of friendship between him- 
self and Burke.) 

"He differed," he said, "decidedly, from his 
right honorable friend in almost every word 
that he had uttered respecting a French Revo- 
lution. He conceived it to be as just a Revo- 
lution as ours, proceeding upon as sound a 
principle and as just a provocation. He vehe- 
mently defended the general views and conduct 
of the National Assembly. He could not even 
understand what was meant by the charges 
against them of having overturned the laws, 
the justice, and the revenues of their country. 
What were the laws ? the arbitrary mandates 
of capricious despotism. What their justice? 
the partial adjudications of venal magistrates. 
What their revenues? national bankruptcy. 
This he thought the fundamental error of his 
right honorable friend's argument, that he ac- 
cused the National Assembly of creating the 
evils, which they had found existing in full 
deformity at the first hour of their meeting. 

130 



Speeches. 

The public creditor had been defrauded; the 
manufacturer was without employ; trade was 
languishing; famine clung upon the poor; de- 
spair on all. In this situation, the wisdom 
and feelings of the nation were appealed to by 
the government; and was it to be wondered at 
by Englishmen, that a people, so circum- 
stanced, should search for the cause and 
source of all their calamities, or that they 
should find them in the arbitrary constitution 
of their government, and in the prodigal and 
corrupt administration of their revenues ? 
For such an evil, when proved, what remedy 
could be resorted to, but a radical amendment 
of the frame and fabric of the constitution it- 
self? This change was not the object and 
wish of the National Assembly only; it was 
the claim and cry of all France, united as one 
man for one purpose. 

"The cruelties which disgraced the com- 
mencement of the French Revolution were 
ascribed by the orator not to the want of moral 
principle or of legal restraint, but to a supe- 
rior abhorrence of that accursed system of 
despotic government, which had so deformed 
and corrupted human nature, as to make its 
subjects capable of such acts; a government 
that set at naught the property, the liberty, 
and lives of the subjects; a government that 
dealt in extortion, dungeons, and tortures, set- 
ting an example of depravity to the slaves over 
which it ruled: when therefore the day of 

131 



Sheridan. 

power came to the wretched populace, it was 
not to be wondered at, however much it might 
be regretted, that they should act without those 
feelings of justice and humanity of which they 
had been stripped by the principles and prac- 
tices of their governors. " 



132 



IN ANSWER TO LORD MORNINGTON. 

(This is the only speech which Sheridan 
himself corrected for publication. Lord Morn- 
ington had spoken of the various atrocities 
committed in France, and Sheridan replies.) 

"But what was the sum of all that he had 
told the House? that great and dreadful enor- 
mities had been committed, at which the heart 
shuddered, and which not merely wounded 
every feeling of humanity, but disgusted and 
sickened the soul. All this was most true ; but 
what did all this prove? What, but that 
eternal and unalterable truth which had always 
presented itself to his mind, in whatever way 
he had viewed the subject, namely, that a long- 
established despotism so far degraded and de- 
based human nature, as to render its subjects, 
on the first recovery of their rights, unfit for 
the exercise of them. But never had he, nor 
would he meet but with reprobation that mode 
of argument which went, in fact, to establish, 
as an inference from this truth, that those who 
had been long slaves, ought, therefore, .to re- 
main so for ever ! No ; the lesson ought to 
be, he would again repeat, a tenfold horror of 

133 



Sheridan. 

that despotic form of government, which had 
so profaned and changed the nature of civilized 
man, and a still more jealous apprehension of 
any system tending to withhold the rights and 
liberties of our fellow-creatures. Such a form 
of government might be considered as twice 
cursed; while it existed, it was solely respon- 
sible for the miseries and calamities of its sub- 
jects; and should a day of retribution come, 
and the tyranny be destroyed, it was equally to 
be charged with all the enormities which the 
folly or frenzy of those who overturned it 
should commit. 

''But the madness of the French people was 
not confined to their proceedings within their 
own country; we, and all the Powers of Eu- 
rope, had to dread it. True ; but was not this 
also to be accounted for? Wild and unsettled 
as their state of mind was necessarily 
upon the events which had thrown such 
power so suddenly into their hands, the 
surrounding States had goaded them into 
a still more savage state of madness, 
fury, and desperation. We had unsettled 
their reason, and then reviled their insanity ; 
we drove them to the extremities that produced 
the evils we arraigned; we baited them like 
wild beasts, until at length we made them so. 
The conspiracy of Pilnitz, and the brutal 
threats of the royal abettors of that plot against 
the rights of nations and of men, had, in truth, 
to answer for all the additional misery, horrors, 

1U 



Speeches. 

and iniquity which had since disgraced and in- 
censed humanity. Such has been your con- 
duct towards France, that you have created 
the passions which you persecute ; you mark a 
nation to be cut off from the world ; you cove- 
nant for their extermination ; you swear to 
hunt them in their inmost recesses ; you load 
them with every species of execration ; and you 
now come forth with whining declamations on 
the horror of their turning upon you with the 
fury which you inspired." 

After alluding to a quotation which Lord 
Mornington had made from Condorcet, assert- 
ing that "Revolutions are always the work of 
the minority," Sheridan says in a spirited man- 
ner : 

"If this be true, it certainly is a most omi- 
nous thing for the enemies of reform in Eng- 
land ; for, if it holds true, of necessity, that 
the minority still prevails, in national contests, 
it must be a consequence that the smaller the 
minority the more certain must be the success. 
In what a dreadful situation, then, must the 
noble lord be and all the alarmists ! for never 
surely, was a minority so small, so tfiin in num- 
ber, as the present. Conscious, however, that 
M. Condorcet was mistaken in our object, I 
am glad to find that we are terrible in propor- 
tion as we are few; I rejoice that the liberality 
of secession which has thinned our ranks has 
only served to make us more formidable. The 
alarmists will hear this with new apprehen- 

135 



Sheridan. 

sions ; they will no doubt return to us with a 
view to diminish our force, and encumber us 
with their alliance in order to reduce us to 
insignificance." 

About this time, it was apparent that the 
great Whig seceders were about to yield to 
the invitation of Mr. Pitt and the strong per- 
suasion of Burke, join the administration and 
accept office. Sheridan was naturally indig- 
nant. Lord Mornington had contrasted the 
privations and sacrifices demanded by the 
Minister of Finance from the French with 
those required of the English nation. In reply 
Sheridan says : 

- "The noble lord need not remind us that 
there is no great danger of our Chancellor of 
the Exchequer making any such experiment. 
I can more easily fancy another sort of speech 
for our prudent minister. I can more easily con- 
ceive him modestly comparing himself and his 
own measures with the character and conduct 
of his rival, and saying, 'Do I demand of you, 
wealthy citizens, to lend your hoards to 
Government without interest ? On the con- 
trary, when I shall come to propose a loan, 
there is not a man of you to whom 1 shall not 
hold out at least a job in every part of the 
subscription, and an usurious profit upon every 
pound you devote to the necessities of your 
country. Do I demand of you, my fellow- 
placemen and brother-pensioners, that you 
should sacrifice any part of your stipends to 

136 



Speeches. 

the public exigency? On the contrary, am I 
not daily increasing your emoluments and your 
numbers in proportion as the country becomes 
unable to provide for you ? Do I require of 
you, my latest and most zealous proselytes — 
of you who have come over to me for the 
special purpose of supporting the war — a war, 
on the success of which you solemnly protest 
that the salvation of Britain, and of civil so- 
ciety itself, depends — do I require of you, that 
you should make a temporary sacrifice, in the 
cause of human nature, of the greater part of 
your private incomes ? No, gentlemen ; I 
scorn to take advantage of the eagerness of 
your zeal; and to prove that I think the sin- 
cerity of your attachment to me needs no such 
test, I will make your interest cd-operate with 
your principle : I will quarter many of you on 
the public supply, instead of calling on you to 
contribute to it; and, while their whole 
thoughts are absorbed in patriotic apprehen- 
sions for their country, I will dexterously force 
upon others the favorite objects of the vanity 
or ambition of their lives/ 
******* 

"Good God, sir, that he should have thought 
it prudent to have forced this contrast upon 
our attention ; that he should triumphantly re- 
mind us of everything that shame should have 
\vithheld, and caution would have buried in 
oblivion ! Will those who stood forth with 
a parade of disinterested patriotism, and 

137 



Sheridan. 

vaunted of the sacrifices they have made, and 
the exposed situation they had chosen, in order 
the better to oppose the friends of Brissot in 
England — will they thank the noble lord for 
reminding us how soon these lofty professions 
dwindled into little jobbing pursuits for fol- 
lowers and dependents, as unfit to fill the 
offices procured for them, as the offices them- 
selves were unfit to be created? Wi 1 ! the train 
of newly-titled alarmists, of supernumerary 
negotiators, of pensioned paymasters, agents 
and commissaries, thank him for remarking 
to us how profitable their panic has been to 
themselves, and how expensive to the country? 
What a contrast, indeed, do we exhibit ! 
What ! in such an hour as this, at a moment 
pregnant with the national fate, when, press- 
ing as the exigency may be, the hard task of 
squeezing the money from the pockets of an 
impoverished people, from the toil, the drudg- 
ery of the shivering poor, must make the most 
practised collector's heart ache while he tears 
it from them — can it be that people of high 
rank, and professing high principles, that they 
or their families should seek to thrive on the 
spoils of misery, and fatten on the meals 
wrested from industrious poverty? Can it be 
that this should be the case with the very per- 
sons who state the unprecedented peril of the 
country as the sole cause of their being found 
in the ministerial ranks? The Constitution is 
in danger, religion is in danger, the very exist- 

138 



Speeches. 

ence of the nation itself is endangered ; all per- 
sonal and party considerations ought to vanish ; 
the war must be supported by every possible 
exertion, and by every possible sacrifice ; the 
people must not murmur at their burdens — it 
is for their salvation, their all is at stake. The 
time is come when all honest and disinterested 
men should rally round the throne as round a 
standard; — for what? ye honest and disin- 
terested men, to receive, for your own private 
emolument, a portion of those very taxes 
wrung from the people, on the pretence of sav- 
ing them from the poverty and distress which 
you say the enemy would inflict, but which you 
take care no enemy shall be able to aggravate. 
Oh ! shame ! shame ! is this a time for 
selfish intrigues, and the little dirty traffic 
for lucre and emolument? Does it suit 
the honor of a gentleman to ask at 
such a moment? Does it become the 
honesty of a Minister to grant? Is it in- 
tended to confirm the pernicious doctrine, so 
industriously propagated by many, that all 
public men are impostors, and that every poli- 
tician has his price? Or even where there is 
no principle in the bosom, why does not pru- 
dence hint to the mercenary and the vain to 
abstain a while at least, and wait the fitting of 
the times ? Improvident impatience ! Nay, 
even from those who seem to have no direct 
object of office or profit, what is the language 
which their actions speak? The throne is in 

139 



Sheridan. 

danger ! 'We will support the throne, but let 
us share the smiles of royalty.' The order of 
nobility is in danger ! T will fight for 
nobility/ says the viscount, 'but my zeal would 
be much greater if I were made an earl.' 
'Rouse all the marquis within me,' exclaims 
the earl, 'and the peerage never turned forth a 
more undaunted champion in its cause than I 
shall prove.' 'Stain my green riband blue/ 
cries out the illustrious knight, 'and the foun- 
tain of honor will have a fast and faithful 
servant.' What are the people to think of our 
sincerity ? What credit are they to give to our 
professions ? Is this system to be persevered 
in? Is there nothing that whispers to that 
right honorable gentleman that the crisis is 
too big, that the times are too gigantic, to be 
ruled by the little hackneyed and everyday 
means of ordinary corruption?" 



140 



ON THE ENGLISH PEOPLE. 

(This extract on the character of the people 
of England, at that time, seems of peculiar 
interest. It appears both candid and just.) 

"Never was there/' he said, "any country 
in which there was so much absence of public 
principle, and at the same time so many in- 
stances of private worth. Never was there 
so much charity and humanity toward the 
poor and the distressed ; any act of cruelty 
or oppression never failed to excite a senti- 
ment of general indignation against its au- 
thors. It was a circumstance peculiarly 
strange, that though luxury had arrived at 
such a pitch, it had so little effect in deprav- 
ing the hearts and destroying the morals of 
people in private life ; and almost every day 
produced some fresh example of generous 
feelings and noble exertions of benevolence. 
Yet, amidst these phenomena of private vir- 
tue, it was to be remarked that there was 
an almost total want of public spirit, and a 
most deplorable contempt of public principle. 
* * * * When Great Britain falls, 
the case will not be with her as with Rome 

141 



Sheridan. 

in former times. When Rome fell, she fell 
by the weight of her own vices. The inhabi- 
tants were so corrupted and degraded, as to 
be unworthy of a continuance of prosperity, 
and incapable to enjoy the blessings of liberty; 
their minds were bent to the state in which 
a reverse of fortune placed them. But when 
Great Britain falls, she will fall with a people 
full of private worth and virtue; she will be 
ruined by the profligacy of the governors, and 
the security of her inhabitants — the conse- 
quence of those pernicious doctrines which 
have taught her to place a false confidence in 
her strength and freedom, and not to look 
with distrust and apprehension to the miscon- 
duct and corruption of those to whom she has 
trusted the management of her resources." 



142 



ON THE REBELLION IN IRELAND. 

"What ! when conciliation was held out to 
the people of Ireland, was there any discon- 
tent? When the Government of Ireland was 
agreeable to the people, was there any discon- 
tent? After the prospect of that conciliation 
was taken away — after Lord Fitzwilliam was 
recalled — after the hopes which had been 
raised were blasted — when the spirit of the 
people was beaten down, insulted, despised, 
I will ask any gentleman to point out a single 
act of conciliation which has emanated from 
the Government of Ireland? On the contrary, 
has not that country exhibited one continual 
scene of the. most grievous oppression, of the 
most vexatious proceedings; arbitrary punish- 
ments inflicted; torture declared necessary by 
the highest authority in the sister-kingdom 
next to that of the legislature ? And do gentle- 
men say that the indignant spirit which is 
roused by such exercise of government is un- 
provoked? Is this conciliation? is this lenity? 
Has everything been done to avert the evils 
of rebellion? It is the fashion to say, and 
the Address holds the same language, that the 
rebellion which now rages in the sister-king- 

143 



Sheridan. 

dom has been owing to the machinations of 
'wicked men/ Agreeing to the amendment 
proposed, it was my first intention to move 
that these words should be omitted. But, sir, 
the fact they assert is true. It .is, indeed, 
to the measures of wicked men that the de- 
plorable state of Ireland is to be imputed. It 
is to those wicked ministers who have broken 
the promises they held out; who betrayed the 
party they seduced into their views, to be the 
instruments of the foulest treachery that ever 
was practised against any people. It is to 
those wicked ministers who have given up that 
devoted country to plunder — resigned it a prey 
to this faction, by which it has so long been 
trampled upon, and abandoned it to every 
species of insult and oppression by which a 
country was ever overwhelmed, or the spirit 
of a people insulted, that we owe the miseries 
into which Ireland is plunged, and the dangers 
by which England is threatened. These 
evils are the doings of wicked ministers, and 
applied to them, the language of the Address 
records a fatal and melancholy truth." 



144 



ON THE PROBABILITY OF A FRENCH 
INVASION. 

"If the French are determined to invade us, 
they will, no doubt, come furnished with flam- 
ing manifestoes. The Directory will probably 
instruct their generals to make the fairest pro- 
fessions of the manner in which their army 
will act; but of these professions surely no one 
can be believed. Some, however, may deceive 
themselves by supposing that the great Buona- 
parte will have concerted with the Directory 
that he is not to tarnish his laurels, or sully 
his glory, by permitting his soldiers to plunder 
our banks, to ruin our commerce, to enslave 
our people ; but that he is to come, like a 
minister of grace, with no other purpose than 
to give peace to the cottager, to restore citi- 
zens to their rights, to establish real free- 
dom, and a liberal and humane government. 
This undoubtedly were noble ; this were gen- 
erous ; this, I had almost said, we're god-like. 
But can there be supposed an Englishman so 
stupid, so besotted, so befooled, as to give a 
moment's credit to such ridiculous profes- 
sions? Not that I deny but that a great re- 
public may be actuated by these generous prin- 

145 



Sheridan. 

ciples, and by a thirst of glory ior glory's 
sake. Such, I might be induced to. believe, 
was the spirit which inspired the Romans in 
the early and virtuous periods of their repub- 
lic. They fought and conquered for the meed 
of warlike renown. Still sooner would I be- 
lieve that the Spartan heroes fought for fame 
only, and not for the plunder of wealth and 
luxury, which they were more ready to ex- 
clude from than to introduce into the bosom 
of their republic. But far otherwise are we 
to interpret the objects that' whet the valor 
and stimulate the prowess of modern repub- 
licans. Do we not see they have planted the 
tree of liberty in the garden of monarchy, 
where it still continues to produce the same 
rare and luxurious fruit? Do we not see the 
French republicans as eager as ever were the 
courtly friends of the monarchy to collect 
from among the vanquished countries, and 
to accumulate all the elegances, all the monu- 
ments of the arts and sciences ; determined 
to make their capital the luxurious mart and 
school for a subject and admiring world? It 
is not glory they seek, for they are already 
gorged with it; it is not territory they grasp 
at, they are already encumbered with the ex- 
tent they have acquired. What, then, is their 
object? They come for what they really 
want; they come for ships, for commerce, for 
credit, and for capital. Yes, they come for 
the sinews, the bones, for the marrow, and for 

146 



Speeches. 

the very heart's blood of Great Britain. But 
now," said Mr. Sheridan, "let us examine 
what we are to purchase at this price. It is 
natural for a merchant to look closely to the 
quality of the article which he is about to buy 
at a high rate. Liberty, it appears, is now 
their staple commodity; but should we not 
carefully attend, whether what they export be 
not of the same kind with what they keep for 
their home consumption? Attend, I say, and 
examine hew little of real liberty they them- 
selves enjoy, who are so forward and prodigal 
in bestowing it on others. On this subject I 
do not touch as a matter of reproach. The 
unjust measures they have pursued they may 
have pursued from necessity. If the majority 
of the French people are desirous and deter- 
mined to continue a republican form of govern- 
ment, the Directory must do what they can to 
secure the republic. This conduct, both pru- 
dence, policy, and a view to their own se- 
curity, may dictate and enforce. But were 
they to perform the fair promises which they 
would fain hold out to us, they would then 
establish more liberty here than they them- 
selves enjoy in France. Were they to leave 
us the trial by jury uninterrupted, and thus 
grant us a constitution more enviable than 
their own, would not this be rearing a fabric 
here which would stand as a glaring contrast, 
and prove a lasting reproach to their own 
country ?" 

14? 



Sheridan. 

Towards the conclusion of this most elo- 
quent and patriotic speech, which united the 
warmth of Demosthenes with the nerve of 
Cicero, the orator touched upon the best means 
of opposing a successful resistance to an ene- 
my of this temper and disposition. "I will 
not," said he, "here require of ministers to lay 
aside their political prejudices or animosities; 
neither will I require of those who oppose 
them altogether to suspend theirs; but both 
must feel that this sacrifice is necessary, at 
least, on one point, resistance to the enemy, 
and upon this subject I must entreat them to 
accord ; for here it is necessary that they 
should both act with one heart and one hand. 
If there be any who say we will oppose the 
French when we have succeeded in removing 
the present ministers, to them I would say: — 
'Sirs, let us defer that for a moment; let us 
now oppose the enemy and avert the storm, 
otherwise we shall not long have even minis- 
ters to combat and remove.' If there be any 
who say that ministers have brought our pres- 
ent calamities on us, and that they ought, 
therefore, to be first removed, I will grant 
them that there is justice and logic in the argu- 
ment; but its policy I am at a loss to discover. 
There are those who think the present min- 
isters incapable, and that they should on that 
account be displaced. Granted : but if they 
cannot succeed in removing them, and if they 
be sincere in their opinion of the incapacity of 



Speeches. 

ministers, how can they approve themselves 
sincere in their wish to resist the enemy, un- 
less they contribute to aid and rectify the in- 
capacity of which they complain ? There are, 
however, some gentlemen who seem to divide 
their enmity and opposition between ministers 
and the French; but do they not see that the 
inevitable consequence of this division must 
be the conquest of the country? Why then 
do they thus hesitate about which side of the 
question they ought to take? Can there be 
anything more childish than to say, I will wait 
until the enemy has landed, and then I will 
resist them ; as if preparation was no essential 
part of effectual resistance? What more 
childish and ridiculous than to say, I will take 
a pistol and fire at them ; but I will not go the 
length of a musket ; no : I will attack them 
with my left, but I will not exert my right 
hand against them? All must unite, all must 
go every length against them, or there can be 
no hopes; and already I rejoice to see the 
necessary spirit begin to rise throughout the 
country and the metropolis ; and when on this 
side of the House we manifest this spirit, and 
forget all other motives to action, I trust the 
same sentiments will prevail on the other; and 
that the offers we make sincerely will be ac- 
cepted unreluctantly. But now I must ob- 
serve, that the defence of the country might be 
essentially aided by two very different classes 
of men; the one composed of those sturdy, 

149 



Sheridan. 

hulking fellows whom we daily see behind 
coaches, or following through the streets and 
squares their masters and mistresses, who, in 
the meantime, perhaps, are ruminating on the 
evils of an invasion ; to such I would entrust 
the defence of the capital, and would add to 
them the able-bodied men which the different 
offices might easily produce. There is another 
class I would also beg leave to mention; and 
those are young gentlemen of high rank, who 
are daily mounted on horses of high blood. 
They surely, at this perilous moment, might 
be better employed ; though it would ill be- 
come me to erect myself into a rigid censor 
of amusement and dissipation. That line of 
argument would not exactly suit my own line 
of conduct ; nor am I an enemy to their amuse- 
ments ; on the contrary : but their mornings 
might now be more usefully devoted in pre- 
paring for the great task which they will have 
to perform ; for sure I am, they possess a spirit 
that will not permit them to skulk and hide 
their heads from the storm; they will scorn 
to be seen a miserable train of emigrants wan- 
dering and despised in a foreign land." 



150 



RIDICULE OF PITT AND ADDINGTON. 

(In 1801 Pitt was succeeded as prime min- 
ister by Addington, although it has been 
claimed that the latter zvas completely under 
the domination of the former. In a speech, 
during the discussion of the Definitive Treaty, 
Sheridan in a highly Ji timorous manner, ridi- 
cules the understanding between the ex-min- 
ister and his successor.) 

"I should like to support the present minister 
on fair ground; but what is he? a sort of out- 
side passenger, — or rather a man leading the 
horses round a corner, while reins, whip, and 
all, are in the hands of the coachman on the 
box! (looking at Mr. Pitfs elevated seat, three 
or four benches above that of the Treasury.) 
Why not have an union of the two ministers, 
or, at least, some intelligible connection? 
When the ex-minister quitted office, almost all 
the subordinate ministers kept their places. 
How was it that the whole family did not 
move together? Had he only one covered 
wagon to carry friends end goods? or has he 
left directions behind him that they may 

151 



Sheridan. 

know where to call? I remember a fable of 
Aristophanes's, which is translated from 
Greek into decent English. — I mention this for 
the country gentlemen. It is of a man that 
sat so long on a seat (about as long, perhaps, 
as the ex-minister did on the Treasury-bench), 
that he grew to it. When Hercules pulled 
him off, he left all the sitting part of the man 
behind him. The House can make the allu- 
sion." 

The following is another witty passage 
from this speech : — 

"But let France have colonies ! Oh, yes ! let 
her have a good trade, that she may be afraid 
of war, says the learned member, — that's 
the way to make Buonaparte love peace. He 
has had, to be sure, a sort of military educa- 
tion. He has been abroad, and is rather rough 
company; but if you put him behind the 
counter a little, he will mend exceedingly. 
When I was reading the treaty, I thought all 
the names of foreign places, viz., Pondicherry, 
Chandenagore, Cochin, Martinico, etc., all 
cessions. Not they, — they are all so many 
traps and holes to catch this silly fellow in, 
and make a merchant of him ! I really think 
the best way upon this principle would be this : 
— let the merchants of London open a public 
subscription, and set him up at once. I hear 
a great deal respecting a certain statue about 
to be erected to the right honorable gentleman 
(Mr. Pitt) now in my eye, at a great expense. 

152 



Speeches. 

Send all that money over to the First Consul, 
and give him, what you talk of so much, 
Capital, to begin trade with. I hope the right 
honorable gentleman over the way will, like 
the First Consul, refuse a statue fo r the pres- 
ent, and postpone it as a work to posterity. 
There is no harm, however, in marking out 
the place. The right honorable gentleman is 
musing, perhaps, on what square, or place, he 
will choose for its erection. I recommend the 
Bank of England. Now for the material. 
Not gold : no, no ! — he has not left enough of 
it. I should, however, propose papier mache 
and old bank notes !" 



153 



CRITICISMS OF APPOINTMENTS TO 
OFFICE. 

(In 1804 Pitt was again prime minister. 
He called to his aid Addington and other 
members of the defunct administration. In 
the following passage Sheridan criticises this 
action.) 

"The right honorable gentleman went into 
office alone ; — but, lest the government should 
become too full of vigor from his support, he 
thought proper to beckon back some of the 
weakness of the former administration. He, 
I suppose, thought that the ministry became, 
from his support, like spirits above proof, and 
required to be diluted ; that, like gold refined 
to a certain degree, it would be unfit for use 
without a certain mixture of alloy ; that the 
administration would be too brilliant and 
dazzle the House, unless he called back a cer- 
tain part of the mist and fog of the last ad- 
ministration to render it tolerable to the eye. 
As to the great change made in the ministry 
by the introduction of the right honorable gen- 

154 



Speeches. 

tleman himself, I would ask, does he imagine 
that he came back to office with the same esti- 
mation that he left it? I am sure he is much 
mistaken if he fancies that he did. The right 
honorable gentleman retired from office be- 
cause, as was stated, he could not carry au 
important question, which he deemed neces- 
sary to satisfy the just claims of the Catholics ; 
and in going out he did not hesitate to tear off 
the sacred veil of majesty, describing his 
sovereign as the only person that stood in the 
way of this desirable object. After the right 
honorable gentleman's retirement, he advised 
the Catholics to look to no one but him for the 
attainment of their rights, and cautiously to 
abstain from forming a connection with any 
other person. But how does it appear, now 
that the right honorable gentleman is returned 
to office? He declines to perform his promise ; 
and has received, as his colleagues in office, 
those who are pledged to resist the measure. 
Does not the right honorable gentleman then 
feel that he comes back to office with a char- 
acter degraded by the violation of a solemn 
pledge, given to a great and respectable body 
of the people, upon a particular and momen- 
tous occasion ? Does the right honorable gen- 
tleman imagine either that he returns to 
office with the same character for political 
wisdom, after the description which he gave 
of the talents and capacity of his predecessors, 
and after having shown by his own actions, 

155 



Sheridan. 

that his description was totally unfounded?" 

In the same speech, alluding to Lord Mel- 
ville's appointment to the Admiralty, he 
says : — 

"But then, I am told, there is the First 
Lord of the Admiralty, — 'Do you forget the 
leader of the grand Catamaran project? Are 
you not aware of the important change in that 
department, and the advantage the country is 
likely to derive from that change?' Why, I 
answered, that I do not know of any peculiar 
qualifications the noble lord has to preside 
over the Admiralty ; but I do know, that if I 
were to judge of him from the kind of capac- 
ity he evinced while Minister of War. I should 
entertain little hopes of him. If, however, the 
ri^ht honorable gentleman should say to me, 
'Where else would you put that noble lord, 
would you have him appointed War Minister 
again ?' I should say. 'Oh, no, by no means.' — 
I remember too well the expeditions to Toulon, 
to Quiberon, to Corsica, and to Holland, the 
responsibility for each of which the noble lord 
took on himself, entirely releasing from any 
responsibility the Commander-in-chief and the 
Secretary at War. I also remember that 
which, although so glorious to our arms in the 
result, I still shall call a most unwarrantable 
project, — the expedition to Egypt. It may be 
said, that as the noble lord was so unfit for 
the military department, the naval was the 
proper place for him. Perhaps there were 

156 



Speeches. 

people who would adopt this whimsical rea- 
soning. I remember a story told respecting 
Mr. Garrick, who was once applied to by an 
eccentric Scotchman, to introduce a produc- 
tion of his on the stage. This Scotchman was 
such a good-humored fellow, that he was called 
'Honest Johnny M'Cree.' Johnny wrote four 
acts of a tragedy, which he showed to Mr. 
Garrick, who dissuaded him from finishing it; 
telling him that his talent did not lie that way; 
so Johnny abandoned the tragedy, and set 
about writing a comedy. When this was fin- 
ished, he showed it to Air. Garrick, who found 
it to be still more exceptionable than the trag- 
edy, and of course could not be persuaded to 
bring it forward on the stage. This surprised 
poor Johnny, and he remonstrated. 'Nay, now, 
David' (said Johnny), 'did you not tell me that 
my talents did not lie in tragedy?' — 'Yes' (re- 
plied Garrick), 'but I did not tell you that they 
lay in comedy.' — 'Then' (exclaimed Johnny), 
'gin they dinna lie there, where the de'il dittha 
lie, mon?' Unless the noble lord at the head 
of the Admirality has the same reasoning in 
his mind as Johnny M'Cree, he cannot possibly 
suppose that his incapacity for the direction 
of the War department necessarily qualifies 
him for the presidency of the Naval. Per- 
haps, if the noble lord be told that he has no 
talents for the latter, his lordship may exclaim 
with honest Johnny M'Cree, 'Gin they dinna 
lie there, where the de'il dittha lie, mon?' " 

157 



DECLINATION OF CANDIDACY. 

{The passages below appeared in an address 
to the Westminster electors, the large major- 
ity of whom offered him their support.) 

In speaking of Mr. Fox, he said : 
"It is true there have been occasions upon 
which I have differed with him — painful recol- 
lections of the most painful moments of my 
political life ! Nor were there wanting those 
who endeavored to represent these differences 
as a departure from the homage which his 
superior mind, though unclaimed by him, was 
entitled to, and from the allegiance of friend- 
ship which our hearts all swore to him. But 
never was the genuine and confiding texture 
of his soul more manifest than on such occa- 
sions : he knew that nothing on earth could de- 
tach me from him ; and he resented insinua- 
tions against the sincerity and integrity of a 
friend, which he would not have noticed had 
they been pointed against himself. With such 
a man to have battled in the cause of genuine 
liberty, — with such a man to have struggled 
against the inroads of oppression and corrup- 

158 



Speeches. 

tion, — with such an example before me, to 
have to boast that I never in my life gave one 
vote in Parliament that was not on the side of 
freedom, is the congratulation that attends the 
retrospect of my public life. His friendship 
was the pride and honor of my days. I never, 
for one moment, regretted to share with him 
the difficulties, the calumnies, and sometimes 
even the dangers, that attended an honorable 
course. And now, reviewing my past political 
life, were the option possible that I should re- 
tread the path, I solemnly and deliberately de- 
clare that I would prefer to pursue the same 
course ; to bear up under the same pressure ; 
to abide by the same principles ; and to remain 
by his side an exile from power, distinction, 
and emolument, rather than be at this moment 
a splendid example of successful servility or 
prosperous apostasy, though clothed with 
power, honor, titles, gorged with sinecures, 
and lord of hoards obtained from the plunder 
of the people." 

At the conclusion of his address he thus 
alludes to the circumstances that had obliged 
him to decline the honor offered him : — 

"Illiberal warnings have been held out, most 
unauthoritatively I know, that by persevering 
in the present contest I may risk my official 
situation; and if I retire, I am aware that 
minds, as coarse and illiberal, may assign the 
dread of that as my motive. To such insinua- 
tions I shall scorn to make any other reply 

159 



Sheridan. 

tlian a reference to the whole of my past politi- 
cal career. I consider it as no boast to say, 
that any one who has struggled through such 
a portion of life as I have, without obtaining 
an office, is not likely to abandon his principles 
to retain one when acquired. If riches do not 
give independence, the next best thing to being 
very rich is to have been used to be very poor. 
But independence is not allied to wealth, to 
birth, to rank, to power, to titles or to honor. 
Independence is in the mind of a man or it is 
nowhere. On this ground, were I to decline 
the contest, I should scorn the imputation that 
should bring the purity of my purpose into 
doubt. No minister can expect to find in me 
a servile vassal. No minister can expect from 
me the abandonment of any principles I have 
avowed, or any pledge I have given. I know 
not that I have hitherto shrunk in place from 
opinions I have maintained while in opposi- 
tion. Did there exist a minister of a different 
cast from any I know in being, were he to 
attempt to exact from me a different conduct, 
my office should be at his service to-morrow. 
Such a ministry might strip me of my situa- 
tion, in some respects of considerable emolu- 
ment, but he could not strip me of the proud 
conviction that I was right; he could not strip 
me of my own self-esteem ; he could not strip 
me, I think, of some portion of the confidence 
and good opinion of the people. But I am 
noticing the calumnious threat I allude to 

160 



Speeches. 

more than it deserves. There can be no peril, 
I venture to assert, under the present govern- 
ment, in the free exercise of discretion, such 
as belongs to the present question. I there- 
fore disclaim the merit of putting anything to 
hazard. If I have missed the opportunity of 
obtaining all the support I might, perhaps, 
have had on the present occasion, from a very 
scrupulous delicacy, which I think became and 
was incumbent upon me, but which I by no 
means conceive to have been a fit rule for 
others, I cannot repent it. While the slight- 
est aspiration of breath passed those lips, now 
closed for ever, — while one drop of life's blood 
beat in that heart, now cold for ever, — I 
could not, I ought not, to have acted other- 
wise than I did. — I now come with a very em- 
barrassed feeling to that declaration which I 
yet think you must have expected from me, 
but which I make with reluctance, because, 
from the marked approbation I have experi- 
enced from you, I fear that with reluctance 
you will receive it, — I feel myself under the 
necessity of retiring from this contest." 



161 



Anecdotes and Witty Sayings. 



Anecdotes and Witty Sayings. 

When young, Sheridan was generally ac- 
counted handsome ; but in later years his eyes 
were the only testimonials of beauty that re- 
mained to him. It was, indeed, in the upper 
part of his face that the spirit of the man 
chiefly reigned, the dominion of the world and 
the senses being rather strongly marked out in 
the lower. In his person he was about the 
middle size, and his general make was robust 
and well proportioned. It is remarkable that 
his arms, though of powerful strength, were 
thin, and appeared by no means muscular. 
His hands were small and delicate; and the 
following couplet, written on a cast from one 
of them, very livelily enumerates both its 
physical and moral qualities : — 

Good at a Fight, but better at a Play, 
Godlike in Giving, but — the Devil to Pay! 



In the debate, 30th May, 1799, about putting 
down Sunday newspapers, Sheridan, amongst 
other things, in answer to Lord Belgrave, ob- 
served that "in the law, as it at present ex- 
ists, there was an exception in favor of sell 
ing mackerel on the Lord's day ; but would the 

165 



Sheridan. 

noble lord recollect that people might think 
stale news as bad as stale mackerel ?" 

The Westminster Reviezv gives the highest 
and most deserved praise to Sheridan for his 
meritorious exertions in favor of the liberty 
of the press on this occasion, and although all 
notice of them is omitted by Mr. Moore, it is 
justly remarked by the reviewer that no event 
in Sheridan's life does him greater honor. 



During the year 1806, Sheridan, having 
been told that his enemies took pleasure in 
speaking ill of him, on account of his favoring 
an obnoxious tax which his party were about 
to force through the House — "Well, let them," 
said Sherry ; "it is but fair that they should 
have some pleasure for their money." 



"The two Sheridans," says Kelly, "were sup- 
ping with me one night after the opera, at a 
period when Tom expected to get into Parlia- 
ment 

"I think, father," said he "that many men, 
who are called great patriots in the House of 
Commons, are great humbugs. For my own 
part, if I get into Parliament, I will pledge 
myself to no party, but write upon my forehead 
in legible characters, 'To be let.' ' 

"And under that, Tom," said his father, 
"write, 'Unfurnished.' " 

Tom took the joke, but was even with him 
on another occasion. 

166 



Anecdotes and Witty Sayings. 

Mr. Sheridan had a cottage about half a 
mile from Hounslow Heath. Tom being very 
short of cash, asked his father to let him have 
some. 

"Money, I have none," was the reply. 

"Be the consequence what it may, money I 
must have," said Tom. 

"If that be the case, my dear Tom," said the 
affectionate parent, "you will find a case of 
loaded pistols upstairs, and a horse ready 
saddled in the stable. The night is dark, and 
vou are within half a mile of Hounslow 
Heath." 

"I understand what you mean," said Tom ; 
"but I tried that last night. I unluckily 
stopped Peake, your treasurer, who told me 
that you had been beforehand with him, and 
had robbed him of every sixpence he had in 
the world." 



His hours of composition, as long as he con- 
tinued to be an author, were at night, and he 
required a profusion of lights around him as 
he wrote. Wine, too, was one of his favorite 
helps to inspiration. "If the thought," h 
would say, "is slow to come, a glass of good 
wine encourages it ; and, when it does come, a 
glass of good wine rewards it." 



Sheridan always said that the Duke of Well- 
ington would succeed in Portugal ; General 

167 



Sheridan. 

Tarleton held the reverse opinion. Tarleton, 
who had been wrong, grew obstinate. So on 
the news of the retreat of the French at 
Torres Vedras, Sheridan, by way of taunt, said, 
"Well, Tarleton, are you on your high horse 
still ?" — "Oh, higher than ever; if I was on a 
horse before, I am on an elephant now." — 
"No, no, my dear fellow; you were on an ass 
before, and you are on a mule now." 



One day Sheridan met two royal dukes in 
St. James's Street, and the younger flippantly 
remarked, "I say, Sherry we have just been 
discussing whether you are a greater fool or 
rogue : what is your opinion, old boy ?" — 
Sheridan bowed, smiled, and, as he took each 
of them by the arm, replied, "Why, faith, I 
believe I am between both " 



Lord Lauderdale, happening to say that he 
would repeat some good thing of Sheridan's, 
he replied, "Pray don't, mv dear Lauderdale; 
a joke in your mouth is no laughing matter." 



Sheridan was disputing one day with Monk 
Lewis, the author of "The Castle Spectre," 
which had filled the exhausted treasury of 
Drury Lane, when the latter, in support of 
his argument, offered to bet Mr. Sheridan all 
the money "The Castle Spectre" had brought 
that he was right. "No," answered the man- 

168 



Anecdotes and Witty Sayings. 

-:.ger; "I cannot affordrto bet so much as that; 
jut I will tell you what I will do — I'll bet you 
ell it is worth." 



Once, being on a parliamentary committee, 
he arrived when all the members were as- 
sembled and seated and about to commence 
business. He looked round in vain for a seat, 
and then, with a bow and a quaint twinkle in 
his eyes, said, "Will any gentleman move, that 
I might take the chair ?" 



Hearing that GifTord, the editor of the 
Quarterly Review, had boasted of his power 
of conferring and distributing literary repu- 
tation, he muttered, "Very true; and in the 
present instance he has done it so thoroughly 
that he has none left for himself/' 



After a very violent speech from an Oppo- 
sition member, Mr. Burke started suddenly 
from his seat, and rushed to the Ministerial 
side of the House, exclaiming, with much 
vehemence, "I quit the camp ! I quit the 
camp I" — "I hope," said Mr. Sheridan, "as the 
honorable gentleman has quitted the camp as a 
deserter, he will not return to it as a spy." 



Cumberland's children induced their father 
to take them to see "The School for Scandal." 
Every time the delighted youngsters laughed 

169 



Sheridan. 

at what was going on on the stage, he pinched 
them, and said, "What are you laughing at, 
my dear little folks ? you should not laugh, my 
angels; there is nothing to laugh at;" and then, 
in an undertone, "Keep still, you little dunces/' 
— Sheridan, having been told this, said, "It 
was very ungrateful in Cumberland to have 
been displeased with his poor children for 
laughing at my comedy, for I went the other 
night to see his tragedy, and laughed at it from 
beginning to end." 



During his last illness, the medical attend- 
ants apprehending that they would be obliged 
to perform an operation on him, asked him "if 
he had ever undergone one." "Never," re- 
plied Sheridan, "except when sitting for my 
picture, or having my hair cut." 

He dreaded the newspapers and always 
courted their favor. He used often to say, 
"Let me but have the periodical press on my 
side, and there should be nothing in this coun- 
try which I would not accomplish." 



Lord Belgrave (afterwards the Earl of 
Grosvenor) having clenched a speech in the 
House with a long Greek quotation. Sheridan 
in reply admitted the force of the quotation so 
far as it went, "but," said he, "had the noble 
lord proceeded a little further and completed 
the passage he would have seen that it applied 

170 



Anecdotes and Witty Sayings. 

the other way." Sheridan then spouted some- 
thing, ore rotundo, which had all the ais, ois, 
oils, kon, and kos, that give the wonted assur- 
ance of a Greek quotation ; upon which Lord 
Belgrave very promptly and handsomely com- 
plimented the honorable member on his readi- 
ness of recollection, and frankly admitted that 
the continuation of the passage had the ten- 
dency ascribed to it by Mr. Sheridan, and that 
he had overlooked it when he gave the quota- 
tion. On the breaking up of the House Fox, 
who piqued himself on having some Greek, 
went up to Sheridan and asked him, "Sheri- 
dan, how came you so ready with that passage ? 
It is certainly as you say, but I was not aware 
of it before you quoted it." It is unnecessary 
to say that there is no Greek at all in Sheri- 
dan's impromptu. 



Being asked, "Why do we honor ambition 
and despise avarice, while they are both but 
the desire of possessing?" "Because," said 
Sheridan, "the one is natural, the other artifi- 
cial ; the one the sign of mental health, the 
other of mental decay; the one appetite, the 
other disease." 



He jocularly remarked one day to a creditor 
who demanded instant payment of a long 
standing debt with interest : "My dear sir, you 
know it is not my interest to pay the principal; 
nor is it my principle to pay the interest, 3 * 

171 



Sheridan. 

Kelly, having to perform an Irish character, 
got Johnson to coach him up in the brogue, 
but with so little success that Sheridan said, 
on entering the green-room at the conclusion 
of the piece, "Bravo, Kelly ! I never heard you 
speak such good English in all my life." 



Richardson was remarkable for his love of 
disputation ; and Tickell, when hard pressed 
by him in argument, used often, as a last re- 
source, to assume the voice and manner of Mr. 
Fox, which he had the power of mimicking so 
exactly, that Richardson confessed he some- 
times stood awed and silenced by the re- 
semblance. 

This disputatious humor of Richardson was 
once turned to account by Sheridan in a very 
characteristic manner. Having had a hackney- 
coach in employ for five or six hours, and not 
being provided with the means of paying it, he 
happened to espy Richardson in the street, and 
proposed to take him in the coach some part 
of his way. The offer being accepted, Sheri- 
dan lost no time in starting a subject of con- 
versation, on which he knew his companion 
was sure to become argumentative and ani- 
mated. Having, by well-managed contradic- 
tion, brought him to the proper pitch of excite- 
ment, he affected to grow impatient and angry 
himself, and saying that "he could not think 
of staying in the same coach with a person 
that would use such language," pulled the 

172 



Anecdotes and Witty Sayings. 

check-string, and desired the coachman to let 
him out. Richardson, wholly occupied witxi 
the argument, and regarding the retreat of his 
opponent as an acknowledgment of defeat, still 
pressed his point, and even hollowed "more 
last words" through the coach window after 
Sheridan, who, walking quietly home, left the 
poor disputant responsible for the heavy fare 
of the coach. 



His improvidence^ in everything connected 
with money was most remarkable. He would 
•frequently be obliged to stop on his journeys, 
for want of the means of getting on, and to 
remain living expensively at an inn, till a 
remittance could reach him. His letters to the 
treasurer of the theatre on these occasions 
were generally headed with the words, "Money- 
bound." A friend of his said, that one morn- 
ing, while waiting for him in his study, he 
cast his eyes over the heap of unopened letters 
that lay upon the table, and, seeing one or 
two with coronets on the seals, said to Mr. 
Westley, the treasurer, who was present, "I 
see we are all treated alike." Mr. Westley 
then informed him that he had once found, on 
looking over his table, a letter which he had 
himself sent, a few weeks before, to Mr. Sheri- 
dan, enclosing a ten-pound note, to release 
him from some inn, but which Sheridan, hav 
ing raised the supplies in some other way, had 
never thought of opening. The prudent trea 

173 



Sheridan. 

urer took away the letter, and reserved the 
enclosure for some future exigence. 

Among instances of his inattention to let- 
ters, the following is mentioned. Going one 
day to the banking-house, where he was ac- 
customed to be paid his salary, as Receiver 
of Cornwall, and where they sometimes accom- 
modated him with small sums before the regu- 
lar time of payment, he asked, with all due 
humility, whether they could oblige him with 
the loan of twenty pounds. "Certainly, sir," 
said the clerk, — "would you like any more — 
fifty, or a hundred ?" Sheridan, all smiles and 
gratitude, answered that a hundred pounds 
would be of the greatest convenience to him. 
"Perhaps you would like to take two hundred 
or three?" said the clerk. At every increase 
of the sum, the surprise of the borrower in- 
creased. "Have not you then received our 
letter ?" said the clerk ; — on which it turned 
out that, in consequence of the falling in of 
some fine, a sum of twelve hundred pounds 
had been lately placed to the credit of the Re- 
ceiver-General, and that, from not having 
opened the letter to apprise him, he had been 
left in ignorance of his good luck. 



When Sheridan was asked what wine he 
liked best, he said — other people's. 



To Lord Holland Sheridan said one day : 
They talk of avarice, lust, ambition, as great 

174 



Anecdotes and Witty Sayings. 

passions. Vanity is the great commanding pas- 
sion of all. It is this that produces the most 
grand and heroic deeds, or impels to the most 
dreadful crimes. Save me from this passion, 
and I can defy the others. They are mere 
urchins, but this is a giant.'' 



Sheridan was once talking to a friend about 
the Prince Regent, who took great credit to 
himself for various public occurrences, as if 
they had been directed by his political skill, or 
foreseen by his political sagacity ; "but," said 
Sheridan, after expatiating on this, "what his 
Royal Highness more particularly prides him- 
self upon, is the late excellent harvest." 



Shaw, having lent Sheridan five hundred 
pounds, dunned him for it. One day, after 
rating Sheridan, he said he must have the 
money. Sheridan, having played off some of 
his plausible wheedling upon him, ended by 
saying that he was very much in want of 
twenty-five pounds to pay the expenses of a 
journey he was about to take, and he knew 
Shaw would be good-natured enough to lend 
it to him. 

' Ton my word," said Shaw, "this is too 
bad; after keeping me out of my money in so 
shameful a manner you now have the face to 
ask me for more ; but it won't do — it is most 
disgraceful, and I must have my money." 

"My dear fellow," replied Sheridan, "do hear 

175 



Sheridan. 

reason ; the sum you ask me for is a very 
considerable one ; whereas I only ask you for 
five and twenty pounds !" 

A friendly wine merchant, Challie, was din- 
ing with Sheridan when a noble visitor in- 
vited the wit down to his country place for 
the shooting season. Sheridan said that he 
was sorry not to be able to accept the invita- 
tion, assuming, as one of his reasons, that his 
friend Challie had determined on keeping him 
in port for the rest of the season. 

"By-the-bye, Challie," said Sheridan play- 
fully, "you would make a capital banker !" 

"A banker!" echoed Challie, laughing 
heartily at the idea; "a banker, Mr. Sheridan! 
why so? a banker and a wine merchant?" 

"The exact thing, my dear friend; for uni; 
ing the business of the wine merchant and 
banker, you could manage a capital business : 
since for those who took your draughts over- 
night you could reciprocate by honoring the:: 
drafts in the morning." 



One day a creditor came into Sheridan's 
room for a bill, and found him seated before 
a table on which two or three hundred pounds 
in gold and notes were strewed. 

"It's no use looking at that, my good fel- 
low," said Sheridan, "that is all bespoken for 
debts of honor." 

"Very well," replied the tradesman, tearing 

176 



Anecdotes and Witty Sayings. 

up his security and throwing it on the fire ; 
"now mine is a debt of honor." 

"So it is, and must be paid at once," saic 
Sheridan, handing him over the money. 



On the subject of the liberty of the press 
(in 1810) Sheridan was very eloquent when 
he exclaimed of his opponents in Parliament : 
— "Give them a corrupt House of Lords; give 
them a venal House of Commons ; give them 
a tyrannical Prince ; give them a truckling 
court, — and let me have an unfettered press ; I 
will defy them to encroach a hair's breadth 
upon the liberties of England." 



In the House of Commons Pitt rallied Sheri- 
dan somewhat severely on his connection with 
the theatre. "No man admitted more than he 
did the abilities of that right honorable gen- 
tleman, the elegant sallies of his thought, the 
gay effusions of his fancy, his dramatic turns, 
and his epigrammatic points ; and if they were 
reserved for a proper stage, they would no 
doubt receive what the right honorable gentle- 
man's abilities always did receive, the plaudits 
of the audience ; and it would be his fortune 
sui plausu gander e theatri ! But this was not 
the proper scene for the exhibition of these 
elegances, and he therefore must beg leave to 
call the attention of the House to the serious 
consideration of the very important questions 
before them." 

1T7 



Sheridan. 

Sheridan in his reply proved himself quite 
equal to the occasion, and thus answered the 
young Minister : "He need not comment upon 
that particular sort of personality which the 
right honorable gentleman had thought proper 
to introduce, the propriety, the taste, the gen- 
tlemanly point of it must have been obvious 
to the House. But," said Mr. Sheridan, "let 
me assure the right honorable gentleman that 
I do now, and will at any time when he chooses 
to repeat this sort of allusion, meet ; t with the 
most sincere good humor. Nay, I will say 
more, flattered and encouraged by the right 
honorable gentleman's panegyric on my talents, 
if I ever again engage in the compositions he 
alludes to, I may be tempted to an act of pre- 
sumption — to attempt an improvement on one 
of Ben Jonson's best characters — the character 
of the Angry Boy in the 'Alchymist.' " 



A party of Sheridan's friends insisted on 
seeing him to his home when he was very 
tipsy. When they reached the street leading 
to the square in which he lived, he required 
them to leave him ; they did so, but after they 
had proceeded a short distance, turned round 
and saw him standing where they had left him, 
and using his umbrella like a person who is 
counting objects before him. 

"What on earth, Sherry, are you about?" 
they asked. 

"Do you not see," said he, "that all tlie 

ITS 



Anecdotes and Witty Sayings. 

houses in the square are going round and 
round? Well, I am waiting till mine comes 
by, and then I shall just step in." 



A creditor whom Sheridan had perpetually 
avoided, met him at last plump, coming out 
of Pall Mall from St. James's Palace. There 
was no possibility of avoiding him, but Sheri- 
dan never lost his presence of mind. 

"Oh," said he, "that's a beautiful mare you 
are on." 

"D'ye think so!" 

"Yes, indeed! How does he trot?" 

The creditor, flattered, told him he should 
see, and immediately put her into full trotting 
pace. The instant he trotted off Sheridan 
turned into Pall Mall again, and was out of 
sight in a moment. 



Kemble and Sheridan were drinking together 
one evening, says Michael Kelly in his Remi- 
niscences, when Kemble complained of the 
want of novelty at Drury Lane Theatre, and 
said that he, as manager, felt uneasy. 

"My dear Kemble," said Sheridan, "don't 
talk of grievances now." 

But Kemble still kept on, saying, "Indeed, 
we must seek for novelty, or the theatre will 
sink — novelty, and novelty alone, can prop it." 

"Then," replied Sheridan, with a smile, "if 
you want novelty, act Hamlet and have music 
played between your pauses" 

179 



Sheridan. 

Sheridan made his appearance one day in a 
pair of new boots, which attracted the notice 
of some friends. 

"Now, guess," said he, "how I came by these 
boots ?" 

Many probable guesses then took place. 
"No," said Sheridan, "no, you've not hit it, 
nor ever will — I bought them, and paid for 
them !" 



Sheridan's parliamentary colleagues had 
brought in an extremely unpopular measure, 
on which they were defeated. He then said, 
that he had often heard of people knocking 
out their brains against a wall ; but never be- 
fore knew of anyone building a wall expressly 
for the purpose. 



Sheridan's maiden speech in the House of 
Commons was far from being successful. 
When it was over, he went to the reporters' 
gallery, and asked a friend, Woodfall, how be 
had succeeded. "I am sorry to say I do not 
think this is your line," said that candid 
friend, "you had much better have stuck to 
your former pursuits." ■ 

On hearing this, Sheridan rested his head on 
his hands for a moment, and then vehemently 
exclaimed, "It is in me, however, and, by God, 
it shall come out." 

180 



Anecdotes and Witty Sayings. 

"The right honorable gentleman," said 
Sheridan, replying to Mr. Dundas in the 
House of Commons, "is indebted to his mem- 
ory for his jests, and to his imagination for 
his facts." 



During the Westminster election contest, 
owing to the tactics of some of Sheridan's 
supporters, one of the voters called out that 
he should withdraw his countenance from him. 

"Take it away at once— take it away at 
once !" cried Sheridan, "it is the most villain- 
ous looking countenance I ever beheld." • 



"By the silence that prevails," said Sheridan, 
on entering a room full of guests, "I conclude 
that Lauderdale has been making a joke." 

Sheridan, the first time he met Tom after 
his marriage, was seriously angry with him, 
and told him that he had made his will and cut 
him off with a shilling. 

Tom said he was, indeed, very sorry, and 
immediately added, "You don't happen to have 
the shilling about you now, sir, do you?" 



A long-winded member of Parliament 
stopped in the midst of a tedious oration to 
take a glass of water. Sheridan immediately 
"rose to a point of order." Everybody won- 
dered what the point of order could be. 

"What is it?" asked the Speaker. 

181 



Sheridan. 

"I think, sir," said Sheridan, "that it is out 
of order for a windmill to go by water." 



One of the school-day mots attributed to 
Sheridan is this : — A gentleman having a re- 
markably long visage was one day riding by 
the school, when he heard young Sheridan say, 
"That gentleman's face is longer than his life." 
Struck by the strangeness of the remark, he 
turned his horse's head, and requested the 
boy's meaning. 

"Sir," replied he, "I meant no offence in the 
world, but I have read in the Bible at school, 
that a man's life is but a span, and I am sure 
your face is double that length." 



Lord Ellenborough (then Mr. Law) had 
once to cross-examine Sheridan. He com- 
menced thus : "Pray, Mr. Sheridan, do answer 
my questions, without point or epigram." 

"You say true, Mr. Law," retorted the wit, 
"your questions are without point or epi- 



Sheridan once succeeded admirably in en- 
trapping a noisy member who was in the habit 
of interrupting every speaker with cries of 
"Hear, hear !" He took an opportunity to 
allude to a well-known political character of 
the times, whom he represented as a person 
who wished to play the rogue, but had only 
sense enough to play the fool. 

182 



Anecdotes and Witty Sayings. 

"Where," exclaimed Sheridan, in continua- 
tion, and with great emphasis, "where shall we 
find a more foolish knave or a more knavish 
fool than this ?" 

"Hear, hear!" was instantly bellowed from 
the accustomed bench. The wicked wit 
bowed, thanked the gentleman for his ready 
reply to the question, and sat down amid con- 
vulsions of laughter from all but their unfor- 
tunate subject. 



A loquacious author, after babbling some 
time about his piece to Sheridan, said, "Sir, I 
fear I have been intruding on your attention." 

"Not at all, I assure you," replied he; "I was 
thinking of something else." 



One day, when quite a boy, Tom Sheridan, 
who had evidently been reading about the 
Necessarians, suddenly asked his father, 
"Pray, my good father, did you ever do any- 
thing in a state of perfect indifference, with- 
out a motive, I mean, of some kind or other?" 

Sheridan, who saw what was coming, and 
had no relish for metaphysical discussion, re- 
plied, "Yes, certainly." 

"Indeed?" said Tom. 

"Yes, indeed." 

"What, total indifference ; total, entire, thor- 
ough indifference?" 

"Yes, total, entire, thorough indifference." 

183 



Sheridan, 

"Well, now then, my dear father, tell me 
what it is that you can do with (mind) total, 
entire, thorough indifference." 

"Why, I can listen to you, Tom," said 
Sheridan. 



THE ENDo 



184 



SEP 



2 C 



SEP 20 1902 

i WW DEL. )G t. 
SEP. 20 1902 



SEP. 23 19Q2 




-v«* 



